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STELLA    FREGELIUS 

A  TALE  OF   THREE  DESTINIES 


STELLA   FREGELIUS 


A  TALE  OF  THREE  DESTINIES 


BY 
H.    RIDER   HAGGARD 


"  Felix  qui  potuit  return  cognoscere  causas, 
Atque  metus  omnes,  et  inexorabile  fatum 
Subjecit  pedibus;  strepitumque  Acherontis  avari." 


LONGMANS,    GREEN,    AND    CO. 

91  AND  93  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 

LONDON  AND  BOMBAY 

1903 


COPYRIGHT,  1902, 
Bv  H.   RIDER  HAGGARD. 


All  rights  reserved. 


Xotiuooft  Jprcss 

J.  S.  Gushing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


College 
Library 

PR 

4131 


Dedication 

My  dear  John  Berwick, 

When  you  read  her  history  in  MS. 
you  thought  well  of  "Stella  Fregeliits"  and,  whilst  I 
hesitated,  urged  her  introduction  to  the  world.  Therefore 
I  ask  you,  my  severe  and  accomplished  critic,  to  accept 
the  burden  of  a  book  for  which  you  are  to  some  extent 
responsible.  Whatever  its  fate,  at  least  it  has  pleased 
you  and  therefore  has  not  been  written  quite  in  vain. 

H.  RIDER   HAGGARD. 

Ditchingham, 

2$th  August,  1903. 


AUTHOR'S    NOTE 

THE  author  feels  that  he  owes  some  apology  to 
his  readers  for  his  boldness  in  offering  to  them  a 
story  which  is  in  no  sense  a  romance  of  the  char- 
acter that  perhaps  they  expect  from  him ;  which 
has,  moreover,  few  exciting  incidents  and  no 
climax  of  the  accustomed  order,  since  the  end  of 
it  only  indicates  its  real  beginning. 

His  excuse  must  be  that,  in  the  first  instance, 
he  wrote  it  purely  to  please  himself  and  now 
publishes  it  in  the  hope  that  it  may  please  some 
others.  The  problem  of  such  a  conflict,  common 
enough  mayhap,  did  we  but  know  it,  between  a 
departed  and  a  present  personality,  of  which  the 
battle-ground  is  an  aching  human  heart  and  the 
prize  its  complete  possession ;  between  earthly 
duty  and  spiritual  desire  also ;  was  one  that  had 
long  attracted  him.  Finding  at  length  a  few 
months  of  leisure,  he  treated  the  difficult  theme, 
not  indeed  as  he  would  have  wished  to  do,  but 
as  best  he  could. 

He  may  explain  further  that  when  he  drafted 
this  book,  now  some  five  years  ago,  instruments 


viii  AUTHOR'S  NOTE 

of  the  nature  of  the  "  aerophone "  were  not  so 
much  talked  of  as  they  are  to-day.  In  fact  this 
aerophone  has  little  to  do  with  his  characters 
or  their  history,  and  the  main  motive  of  its 
introduction  to  his  pages  was  to  suggest  how 
powerless  are  all  such  material  means  to  bring 
within  mortal  reach  the  transcendental  and 
unearthly  ends  which,  with  their  aid,  were 
attempted  by  Morris  Monk. 

These,  as  the  dreamer  learned,  must  be  far 
otherwise  attained,  whether  in  truth  and  spirit, 
or  perchance,  in  visions  only. 

1903. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  MORRIS,  MARY,  AND  THE  AEROPHONE  i 

II.  THE  COLONEL  AND  SOME  REFLECTIONS        .        .  8 

III.  -'POOR  PORSON" 24 

IV.  MARY  PREACHES  AND  THE  COLONEL  PREVAILS     .  40 
V.  A  PROPOSAL  AND  A  PROMISE         .        .        .        -52 

VI.  THE  GOOD  DAYS 67 

VII.  BEAULIEU 78 

VIII.  THE  SUNK  ROCKS  AND  THE  SINGER  ...  go 

IX.  Miss  FREGELIUS 109 

X.  DAWN  AND  THE  LAND 122 

XI.  A  MORNING  SERVICE 137 

XII.  MR.  LAYARD'S  WOOING 153 

XIII.  Two  QUESTIONS,  AND  THE  ANSWER       .        .        .171 

XIV.  THE  RETURN  OF  THE  COLONEL      .        .        .        -193 
XV.  THREE  INTERVIEWS 211 

XVI.  A  MARRIAGE  AND  AFTER 231 

XVII.  THE  RETURN  OF  MARY 245 

XVIII.  Two  EXPLANATIONS 257 


x  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XIX.  MORRIS,  THE  MARRIED  MAN          .        .        .        .273 

XX.  STELLA'S  DIARY 289 

XXI.  THE  END  OF  STELLA'S  DIARY       ....  305 

XXII.  THE  EVIL  GATE 321 

XXIII.  STELLA  COMES 335 

XXIV.  DREAMS  AND  THE  SLEEP 348 


STELLA   FREGELIUS 

CHAPTER   I 

MORRIS,  MARY,  AND  THE  AEROPHONE 

ABOVE,  the  sky  seemed  one  vast  arc  of  solemn  blue,  set 
here  and  there  with  points  of  tremulous  fire ;  below,  to 
the  shadowy  horizon,  stretched  the  plain  of  the  soft  grey 
sea,  while  from  the  fragrances  of  night  and  earth  floated 
a  breath  of  sleep  and  flowers. 

A  man  leaned  on  the  low  wall  that  bordered  the  cliff 
edge,  and  looked  at  sea  beneath  and  sky  above.  Then 
he  contemplated  the  horizon,  and  murmured  some  line 
heard  or  learnt  in  childhood,  ending  "  where  earth  and 
heaven  meet." 

"  But  they  only  seem  to  meet,"  he  reflected  to  himself, 
idly.  "  If  I  sailed  to  that  spot  they  would  be  as  wide 
apart  as  ever.  Yes,  the  stars  would  be  as  silent  and  as 
far  away,  and  the  sea  quite  as  restless  and  as  salt.  Yet 
there  must  be  a  place  where  they  do  meet.  No,  Morris, 
my  friend,  there  is  no  such  place  in  this  world,  material 
or  moral ;  so  stick  to  facts,  and  leave  fancies  alone." 

But  that  night  this  speculative  man  felt  in  the  mood 
for  fancies,  for  presently  he  was  staring  at  one  of  the 
constellations,  and  saying  to  himself,  "  Why  not  ?  Well, 
why  not  ?  Granted  force  that  can  travel  through  ether, 
—  whatever  ether  is  —  why  should  it  stop  travelling  ? 


2  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

Give  it  time  enough,  a  few  seconds,  or  a  few  minutes  or 
a  few  years,  and  why  should  it  not  reach  that  star? 
Very  likely  it  does,  only  there  it  wastes  itself.  What 
would  be  needed  to  make  it  serviceable  ?  Simply  this 
—  that  on  the  star  there  should  dwell  an  Intelligence 
armed  with  one  of  my  instruments,  when  I  have  per- 
fected them,  or  the  secret  of  them.  Then  who  knows 
what  might  happen  ?  "  and  he  laughed  a  little  to  himself 
at  the  vagary. 

From  all  of  which  wandering  speculations  it  may  be 
gathered  that  Morris  Monk  was  that  rather  common  yet 
problematical  person,  an  inventor  who  dreamed  dreams. 

An  inventor,  in  truth,  he  was,  although  as  yet  he  had 
never  really  invented  anything.  Brought  up  as  an 
electrical  engineer,  after  a  very  brief  experience  of  his 
profession  he  had  fallen  victim  to  an  idea  and  become 
a  physicist.  This  was  his  idea,  or  the  main  point  of  it  — 
for  its  details  do  not  in  the  least  concern  our  history : 
that  by  means  of  a  certain  machine  which  he  had  con- 
ceived, but  not  as  yet  perfected,  it  would  be  possible  to 
complete  all  existing  systems  of  aerial  communication, 
and  enormously  to  simplify  their  action  and  enlarge 
their  scope.  His  instruments,  which  were  wireless  tele- 
phones —  aerophones  he  called  them  —  were  to  be  made 
in  pairs,  twins  that  should  talk  only  to  each  other.  They 
required  no  high  poles,  or  balloons,  or  any  other  cum- 
brous and  expensive  appliance;  indeed,  their  size  was 
no  larger  than  that  of  a  rather  thick  despatch  box.  And 
he  had  triumphed  ;  the  thing  was  done  —  in  all  but  one 
or  two  details. 

For  two  long  years  he  had  struggled  with  these,  and 
still  they  eluded  him.  Once  he  had  succeeded — that  was 


MORRIS,  MARY,   AND   THE  AEROPHONE  3 

the  dreadful  thing.  Once  for  a  while  the  instruments 
had  worked,  and  with  a  space  of  several  miles  between 
them.  But  —  this  was  the  maddening  part  of  it  —  he 
had  never  been  able  to  repeat  the  exact  conditions ;  or, 
rather,  to  discover  precisely  what  they  were.  On  that 
occasion  he  had  entrusted  one  of  his  machines  to  his 
first  cousin,  Mary  Porson,  a  big  girl  with  her  hair  still 
down  her  back,  rather  idle  in  disposition,  but  very  intel- 
ligent, when  she  chose.  Mary,  for  the  most  part,  had 
been  brought  up  at  her  father's  house,  close  by.  Often, 
too,  she  stayed  with  her  uncle  for  weeks  at  a  stretch, 
so  at  that  time  Morris  was  as  intimate  with  her  as  a 
man  of  eight  and  twenty  usually  is  with  a  relative  in 
her  teens. 

The  arrangement  on  this  particular  occasion  was  that 
she  should  take  the  machine  —  or  aerophone,  as  its  in- 
ventor had  named  it  —  to  her  home.  The  next  morning, 
at  the  appointed  hour,  as  Morris  had  often  done  before, 
he  tried  to  effect  communication,  but  without  result.  On 
the  following  day,  at  the  same  hour,  he  tried  again,  when, 
to  his  astonishment,  instantly  the  answer  came  back. 
Yes,  as  distinctly  as  though  she  were  standing  by  his 
side,  he  heard  his  cousin  Mary's  voice. 

"Are  you  there?"  he  said,  quite  hopelessly,  merely 
as  a  matter  of  form  —  of  very  common  form  —  and  well- 
nigh  fell  to  the  ground  when  he  received  the  reply : 

"Yes,  yes,  but  I  have  just  been  telegraphed  for  to  go 
to  Beaulieu;  my  mother  is  very  ill." 

"What  is  the  matter  with  her?"  he  asked;  and  she 
replied : 

"  Inflammation  of  the  lungs  —  but  I  must  stop  ;  I  can't 
speak  any  more."  Then  came  some  sobs  and  silence. 


4  STELLA   FREGELIUS 

That  same  afternoon,  by  Mary's  direction,  the  aero- 
phone was  brought  back  to  him  in  a  dog-cart,  and  three 
days  later  he  heard  that  her  mother,  Mrs.  Person,  was 
dead. 

Some  months  passed,  and  when  they  met  again,  on  her 
return  from  the  Riviera,  Morris  found  his  cousin  changed. 
She  had  parted  from  him  a  child,  and  now,  beneath  the 
shadow  of  the  wings  of  grief,  suddenly  she  had  become 
a  woman.  Moreover,  the  best  and  frankest  part  of  their 
intimacy  seemed  to  have  vanished.  There  was  a  veil 
between  them.  Mary  thought  of  little,  and  at  this  time 
seemed  to  care  for  no  one  except  her  mother,  who  was 
dead.  And  Morris,  who  had  loved  the  child,  recoiled 
somewhat  from  the  new-born  woman.  It  may  be  ex- 
plained that  he  was  afraid  of  women.  Still,  with  an  eye  to 
business,  he  spoke  to  her  about  the  aerophone ;  and,  so  far 
as  her  memory  served  her,  she  confirmed  all  the  details 
of  their  short  conversation  across  the  gulf  of  empty  space. 

"You  see,"  he  said,  trembling  with  excitement,  "I 
have  got  it  at  last." 

"It  looks  like  it,"  she  answered,  wearily,  her  thoughts 
already  far  away.  "  Why  shouldn't  you  ?  There  are 
so  many  odd  things  of  the  sort.  But  one  can  never  be 
sure ;  it  mightn't  work  next  time." 

"  Will  you  try  again  ?  "  he  asked. 

"If  you  like,"  she  answered;  "but  I  don't  believe  I 
shall  hear  anything  now.  Somehow  —  since  that  busi- 
ness—  everything  seems  different  to  me." 

"  Don't  be  foolish,"  he  said  ;  "  you  have  nothing  to  do 
with  the  hearing ;  it  is  my  new  receiver." 

"I  daresay,"  she  replied;  "but,  then,  why  couldn't 
you  make  it  work  with  other  people  ? " 


MORRIS,  MARY,  AND   THE  AEROPHONE  5 

Morris  answered  nothing.     He,  too,  wondered  why. 

Next  morning  they  made  the  experiment.  It  failed. 
Other  experiments  followed  at  intervals,  most  of  which 
were  fiascos,  although  some  were  partially  successful. 
Thus,  at  times  Mary  could  hear  what  he  said.  But 
except  for  a  word  or  two,  and  now  and  then  a  sentence, 
he  could  not  hear  her  whom,  when  she  was  still  a  child 
and  his  playmate,  once  he  had  heard  so  clearly. 

"  Why  is  it  ?  "  he  said,  a  year  or  two  later,  dashing  his 
fist  upon  the  table  in  impotent  rage.  "  It  has  been ; 
why  can't  it  be  ? " 

Mary  turned  her  large  blue  eyes  up  to  the  ceiling,  and 
reflectively  rubbed  her  dimpled  chin  with  a  very  pretty 
finger. 

"  Isn't  that  the  kind  of  question  they  used  to  ask 
oracles?"  she  asked  lazily  —  "Oh!  no,  it  was  the 
oracles  themselves  that  were  so  vague.  Well,  I  suppose 
because  '  was  '  is  as  different  from  '  is  '  as  '  is  '  is  from 
'  shall  be.'  We  are  changed,  Cousin  ;  that's  all." 

He  pointed  to  his  patent  receiver,  and  grew  angry. 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  the  receiver,"  she  said,  smoothing  her 
curling  hair ;  "  it's  us.  You  don't  understand  me  a  bit 
—  not  now  —  and  that's  why  you  can't  hear  me.  Take 
my  advice,  Morris"  —and  she  looked  at  him  sharply  — 
"  when  you  find  a  woman  whom  you  can  hear  on  your 
patent  receiver,  you  had  better  marry  her.  It  will  be  a 
good  excuse  for  keeping  her  at  a  distance  afterwards." 

Then  he  lost  his  temper;  indeed,  he  raved,  and  stormed, 
and  nearly  smashed  the  patent  receiver  in  his  fury.  To 
a  scientific  man,  let  it  be  admitted,  it  was  nothing  short 
of  maddening  to  be  told  that  the  successful  working  of 
his  instrument,  to  the  manufacture  of  which  he  had  given 


6  STELLA   FREGELIUS 

eight  years  of  toil  and  study,  depended  upon  some  pre- 
existent  sympathy  between  the  operators  of  its  divided 
halves.  If  that  were  so,  what  was  the  use  of  his  won- 
derful discovery,  for  who  could  ensure  a  sympathetic 
correspondent  ?  And  yet  the  fact  remained  that  when, 
in  their  playmate  days,  he  understood  his  cousin  Mary, 
and  when  her  quiet,  indolent  nature  had  been  deeply 
moved  by  the  shock  of  the  news  of  her  mother's  peril, 
the  aerophone  had  worked.  Whereas  now,  when  she 
had  become  a  grown-up  young  lady,  he  did  not  under- 
stand her  any  longer  —  he,  whose  heart  was  wrapped 
up  in  his  experiments,  and  who  by  nature  feared  the 
adult  members  of  her  sex,  and  shrank  from  them  ;  when, 
too,  her  placid  calm  was  no  longer  stirred,  work  it  would 
not. 

She  laughed  at  his  temper;  then  grew  serious,  and 
said : 

"  Don't  get  angry,  Morris.  After  all,  there  are  lots 
of  things  that  you  and  I  can't  understand,  and  it  isn't 
odd  that  you  should  have  tumbled  across  one  of  them. 
If  you  think  of  it,  nobody  understands  anything.  They 
know  that  certain  things  happen,  and  how  to  make  them 
happen ;  but  they  don't  know  why  they  happen,  or 
why,  as  in  your  case,  when  they  ought  to  happen,  they 
won't." 

"  It  is  all  very  well  for  you  to  be  philosophical,"  he 
answered,  turning  upon  her ;  "  but  can't  you  see,  Mary, 
that  the  thing  there  is  my  life's  work  ?  It  is  what  I 
have  given  all  my  strength  and  all  my  brain  to  make, 
and  if  it  fails  in  the  end  —  why,  then  I  fail  too,  once  and 
forever.  And  I  have  made  it  talk.  It  talked  perfectly 
between  this  place  and  Seaview,  and  now  you  stand  there 


MORRIS,  MARY,  AND   THE  AEROPHONE          7 

and  tell  me  that  it  won't  work  any  more  because  I  don't 
understand  you.  Then  what  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

"  Try  to  understand  me,  if  you  think  it  worth  while, 
which  I  don't ;  or  go  on  experimenting,"  she  answered. 
"  Try  to  find  some  substance  which  is  less  exquisitely 
sensitive,  something  a  little  grosser,  more  in  key  with 
the  material  world;  or  to  discover  someone  whom  you 
do  understand.  Don't  lose  heart ;  don't  be  beaten  after 
all  these  years." 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  I  won't  unless  I  die,"  and  he 
turned  to  go. 

"  Morris,"  she  said,  in  a  softer  voice,  "  I  am  lazy,  I 
know.  Perhaps  that  is  why  I  adore  people  who  can 
work.  So,  although  you  don't  think  anything  of  me,  I 
will  do  my  honest  best  to  get  into  sympathy  with  you 
again;  yes,  and  to  help  in  any  way  I  can.  No ;  it's  not 
a  joke.  I  would  give  a  great  deal  to  see  the  thing  a 
success." 

"  Why  do  you  say  I  don't  think  anything  of  you, 
Mary  ?  Of  course,  it  isn't  true.  Besides,  you  are  my 
cousin,  and  we  have  always  been  good  friends  since 
you  were  a  little  thing." 

She  laughed.  "  Yes,  and  I  suppose  that  as  you  had 
no  brothers  or  sisters  they  taught  you  to  pray  for  your 
cousin,  didn't  they  ?  Oh,  I  know  all  about  it.  It  is  my 
unfortunate  sex  that  is  to  blame ;  while  I  was  a  mere 
torn-boy  it  was  different.  No  one  can  serve  two  mas- 
ters, can  they  ?  You  have  chosen  to  serve  a  machine 
that  won't  go,  and  I  daresay  that  you  are  wise.  Yes,  I 
think  that  it  is  the  better  part  —  until  you  find  someone 
that  will  make  it  go  —  and  then  you  would  adore  her  — 
by  aerophone !  " 


CHAPTER   II 

THE  COLONEL  AND  SOME  REFLECTIONS 

PRESENTLY  Morris  heard  a  step  upon  the  lawn,  and 
turned  to  see  his  father  sauntering  towards  him.  Colo- 
nel Monk,  C.B.,  was  an  elderly  man,  over  sixty  indeed, 
but  still  of  an  upright  and  soldierly  bearing.  His 
record  was  rather  distinguished.  In  his  youth  he  had 
served  in  the  Crimea,  and  in  due  course  was  promoted  to 
the  command  of  a  regiment  of  Guards.  After  this,  cer- 
tain diplomatic  abilities  caused  him  to  be  sent  to  one  of 
the  foreign  capitals  as  military  attache^  and  in  reward 
of  this  service,  on  retiring,  he  was  created  a  Companion 
of  the  Bath.  In  appearance  he  was  handsome  also ;  in 
fact,  much  better  looking  than  his  son,  with  his  iron-grey 
hair,  his  clear-cut  features  somewhat  marred  in  effect 
by  a  certain  shiftiness  of  the  mouth,  and  his  large 
dark  eyes.  Morris  had  those  dark  eyes  also  —  they  re- 
deemed his  face  from  plainness,  for  otherwise  it  showed 
no  beauty,  the  features  being  too  irregular,  the  brow  too 
prominent,  and  the  mouth  too  large.  Yet  it  could  boast 
what,  in  the  case  of  a  man  at  any  rate,  is  better  than 
beauty  —  spirituality,  and  a  certain  sympathetic  charm. 
It  was  not  the  face  which  was  so  attractive,  but  rather 
the  intelligence,  the  personality  that  shone  through  it, 
as  the  light  shines  through  the  horn  panes  of  some 
homely,  massive  lantern.  Speculative  eyes  of  the  sort 

8 


THE  COLONEL  AND  SOME  REFLECTIONS        9 

that  seem  to  search  horizons  and  gather  knowledge 
there,  but  shrink  from  the  faces  of  women ;  a  head  of 
brown  hair,  short  cut  but  untidy,  an  athletic,  manlike 
form  to  which,  bizarrely  enough,  a  slight  stoop,  the 
stoop  of  a  student,  seemed  to  give  distinction,  and  hands 
slender  and  shapely  as  those  of  an  Eastern  —  such  were 
the  characteristics  of  Morris  Monk,  or  at  least  those  of 
them  that  the  observer  was  apt  to  notice. 

"  Hullo  !  Morris,  are  you  star-gazing  there  ? "  said 
Colonel  Monk,  with  a  yawn.  "  I  suppose  that  I  must 
have  fallen  asleep  after  dinner  —  that  comes  of  stopping 
too  long  at  once  in  the  country  and  drinking  port.  I 
notice  you  never  touch  it,  and  a  good  thing,  too.  There, 
my  cigar  is  out.  Now's  the  time  for  that  new  electric 
lighter  of  yours  which  I  can  never  make  work." 

Morris  fumbled  in  his  pocket  and  produced  the 
lighter.  Then  he  said : 

"I  am  sorry,  father;  but  I  believe  I  forgot  to  charge 
it." 

"Ah !  that's  just  like  you,  if  you  will  forgive  my  say- 
ing so.  You  take  any  amount  of  trouble  to  invent  and 
perfect  a  thing,  but  when  it  comes  to  making  use  of  it, 
then  you  forget,"  and  with  a  little  gesture  of  impatience 
the  Colonel  turned  aside  to  light  a  match  from  a  box 
which  he  had  found  in  the  pocket  of  his  cape. 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  Morris,  with  a  sigh,  "but  I  am 
afraid  it  is  true.  When  one's  mind  is  very  fully  occu- 
pied with  one  thing "  and  he  broke  off. 

"Ah!  that's  it,  Morris,  that's  it,"  said  the  Colonel, 
seating  himself  upon  a  garden  chair ;  "  this  hobby-horse 
of  yours  is  carrying  you  —  to  the  devil,  and  your  family 
with  you.  I  don't  want  to  be  rough,  but  it  is  time  that 


10  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

I  spoke  plain.  Let's  see,  how  long  is  it  since  you  left 
the  London  firm  ?  " 

"  Nine  years  this  autumn,"  answered  Morris,  setting 
his  mouth  a  little,  for  he  knew  what  was  coming.  The 
port  drunk  after  claret  had  upset  his  father's  digestion 
and  ruffled  his  temper.  This  meant  that  to  him  — 
Morris  —  Fate  had  appointed  a  lecture. 

"  Nine  years,  nine  wasted  years,  idled  and  dreamt 
away  in  a  village  upon  the  eastern  coast.  It  is  a  large 
slice  out  of  a  man's  life,  my  boy.  By  the  time  that  I 
was  your  age  I  had  done  a  good  deal,"  said  his  father, 
meditatively.  When  he  meant  to  be  disagreeable  it  was 
the  Colonel's  custom  to  become  reflective. 

"  I  can't  admit  that,"  answered  Morris,  in  his  light, 
quick  voice  —  "I  mean  I  can't  admit  that  my  time  has 
either  been  idled  away  or  wasted.  On  the  contrary, 
father,  I  have  worked  very  hard,  as  I  did  at  college, 
and  as  I  have  always  done,  with  results  which,  without 
boasting,  I  may  fairly  call  glorious  —  yes,  glorious  —  for 
when  they  are  perfected  they  will  change  the  methods 
of  communication  throughout  the  whole  world."  As 
he  spoke,  forgetting  the  sharp  vexation  of  the  moment, 
his  face  was  irradiated  with  light  —  like  some  evening 
cloud  on  which  the  sun  strikes  suddenly. 

Watching  him  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye,  even 
in  that  low  moonlight,  his  father  saw  those  fires  of 
enthusiasm  shine  and  die  upon  his  son's  face,  and  the 
sight  vexed  him.  Enthusiasm,  as  he  conceived,  per- 
haps with  justice,  had  been  the  ruin  of  Morris.  Ceasing 
to  be  reflective,  his  tone  became  cruel. 

"  Do  you  really  think,  Morris,  that  the  world  wishes 
to  have  its  methods  of  communication  revolutionised  ? 


THE  COLONEL  AND  SOME  REFLECTIONS       II 

Aren't  there  enough  telephones  and  phonograms  and 
aerial  telegraphs  already  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  you 
merely  wish  to  add  a  new  terror  to  existence.  How- 
ever, there  is  no  need  to  pursue  an  academical  discus- 
sion, since  this  wretched  machine  of  yours,  on  which 
you  have  wasted  so  much  time,  appears  to  be  a  miserable 
failure." 

Now,  to  throw  the  non-success  of  his  invention  into 
the  teeth  of  the  inventor,  especially  when  that  inventor 
knows  that  it  is  successful  really,  although  just  at  pres- 
ent it  does  not  happen  to  work,  is  a  very  deadly  insult. 
Few  indeed  could  be  deadlier,  except,  perhaps,  that  of 
the  cruelty  which  can  suggest  to  a  woman  that  no  man 
will  ever  look  at  her  because  of  her  plainness  and  lack 
of  attraction ;  or  the  coarse  taunt  which,  by  shameless 
implication,  unjustly  accuses  the  soldier  of  cowardice, 
the  diplomat  of  having  betrayed  the  secrets  of  his 
country,  or  the  lawyer  of  having  sold  his  brief.  All 
the  more,  therefore,  was  it  to  Morris's  credit  that  he  felt 
the  lash  sting  without  a  show  of  temper. 

"  I  have  tried  to  explain  to  you,  father,"  he  began, 
struggling  to  free  his  clear  voice  from  the  note  of 
indignation. 

"  Of  course  you  have,  Morris ;  don't  trouble  yourself 
to  repeat  that  long  story.  But  even  if  you  were  suc- 
cessful—  which  you  are  not  —  er  —  I  cannot  see  the 
commercial  use  of  this  invention.  As  a  scientific  toy 
it  may  be  very  well,  though,  personally,  I  should  prefer 
to  leave  it  alone,  since,  if  you  go  firing  off  your  thoughts 
and  words  into  space,  how  do  you  know  who  will  answer 
them,  or  who  will  hear  them  ? " 

"  Well,  father,  as  you  understand  all  about  it,  it  is  no 


12  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

use  my  explaining  any  further.  It  is  pretty  late ;  I  think 
I  will  be  turning  in." 

"  I  had  hoped,"  replied  the  Colonel,  in  an  aggrieved 
voice,  "that  you  might  have  been  able  to  spare  me  a  few 
minutes'  conversation.  For  some  weeks  I  have  been 
seeking  an  opportunity  to  talk  to  you;  but  somehow 
your  arduous  occupations  never  seem  to  leave  you  free 
for  ordinary  social  intercourse." 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Morris,  "  though  I  don't  quite 
know  why  you  should  say  that.  I  am  always  about  the 
place  if  you  want  me."  But  in  his  heart  he  groaned, 
guessing  what  was  coming. 

"  Yes ;  but  you  are  ever  working  at  your  chemi- 
cals and  machinery  in  the  old  chapel ;  or  reading 
those  eternal  books ;  or  wandering  about  rapt  in  con- 
templation of  the  heavens;  so  that,  in  short,  I  sel- 
dom like  to  trouble  you  with  my  mundane  but  necessary 
affairs." 

Morris  made  no  answer ;  he  was  a  very  dutiful  son 
and  humble-spirited.  Those  who  pit  their  intelligences 
against  the  forces  of  Nature,  and  try  to  search  out  her 
secrets,  become  humble.  He  could  not  altogether  respect 
his  father ;  the  gulf  between  them  was  too  wide  and  deep. 
But  even  at  his  present  age  of  three  and  thirty  he  con- 
sidered it  a  duty  to  submit  himself  to  him  and  his 
vagaries.  Outside  of  other  reasons,  his  mother  had 
prayed  him  to  do  so  almost  with  her  last  breath,  and, 
living  or  dead,  Morris  loved  his  mother. 

"  Perhaps  you  are  not  aware,"  went  on  Colonel  Monk, 
after  a  solemn  pause,  "  that  the  affairs  of  this  property 
are  approaching  a  crisis." 

"  I  know  something,  but  no  details,"  answered  Mor- 


THE  COLONEL  AND  SOME  REFLECTIONS       13 

ris.  "I  have  not  liked  to  interfere,"  he  added  apolo- 
getically. 

"And  I  have  not  liked  to  trouble  you  with  such  sordid 
matters,"  rejoined  his  parent,  with  sarcasm.  "  I  pre- 
sume, however,  that  you  are  acquainted  with  the  main 
facts.  I  succeeded  to  this  estate  encumbered  with  a 
mortgage,  created  by  your  grandfather,  an  extravagant 
and  unbusiness-like  man.  That  mortgage  I  looked  to 
your  mother's  fortune  to  pay  off,  but  other  calls  made 
this  impossible.  For  instance,  the  sea-wall  here  had  to 
be  built  if  the  Abbey  was  to  be  saved,  and  half  a  mile  of 
sea-walling  costs  something.  Also  very  extensive  repairs 
to  the  house  were  necessary,  and  I  was  forced  to  take 
three  farms  in  hand  when  I  retired  from  the  army 
fifteen  years  ago.  This  has  involved  a  net  loss  of  about 
ten  thousand  pounds,  while  all  the  time  the  interest  had 
to  be  paid  and  the  place  kept  up  in  a  humble  fashion." 

"  I  thought  that  my  uncle  Person  took  over  the 
mortgage  after  my  mother's  death,"  interrupted  Morris. 

"  That  is  so,"  answered  his  father,  wincing  a  little ; 
"  but  a  creditor  remains  a  creditor,  even  if  he  happens 
to  be  a  relative  by  marriage.  I  have  nothing  to  say 
against  your  uncle  John,  who  is  an  excellent  person 
in  his  way,  and  well-meaning.  Of  course,  he  has  been 
justified,  perfectly  justified,  in  using  his  business  abili- 
ties—  or  perhaps  I  should  say  instincts,  for  they  are 
hereditary — to  his  own  advantage.  In  fact,  however, 
directly  or  indirectly,  he  has  done  well  out  of  this 
property  and  his  connection  with  our  family  —  exceed- 
ingly well,  both  financially  and  socially.  In  a  time  of 
stress  I  was  forced  to  sell  him  the  two  miles  of  sea- 
frontage  building-land  between  here  and  Northwold 


14  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

for  a  mere  song.  During  the  last  ten  years,  as  you 
know,  he  has  cut  this  up  into  over  five  hundred  villa 
sites,  which  he  has  sold  upon  long  lease  at  ground-rents 
that  to-day  bring  in  annually  as  much  as  he  paid  for 
the  whole  property." 

"Yes,  father;  but  you  might  have  done  the  same. 
He  advised  you  to  before  he  bought  the  land." 

"  Perhaps  I  might,  but  I  am  not  a  tradesman ;  I  do  not 
understand  these  affairs.  And,  Morris,  I  must  remind 
you  that  in  such  matters  I  have  had  no  assistance.  I 
do  not  blame  you  any  more  than  I  blame  myself  —  it  is 
not  in  your  line  either  —  but  I  repeat  that  I  have  had 
no  assistance." 

Morris  did  not  argue  the  point.  "  Well,  father,"  he 
asked,  "  what  is  the  upshot  ?  Are  we  ruined  ? " 

"  Ruined  ?  That  is  a  large  word,  and  an  ugly  one. 
No,  we  are  no  more  ruined  than  we  have  been  for  the 
last  half-dozen  years,  for,  thank  Heaven,  I  still  have 
resources  and  —  friends.  But,  of  course,  this  place  is 
in  a  way  expensive,  and  you  yourself  would  be  the  last 
to  pretend  that  our  burdens  have  been  lessened  by  — 
your  having  abandoned  the  very  strange  profession 
which  you  selected,  and  devoted  yourself  to  researches 
which,  if  interesting,  must  be  called  abstract " 

"  Forgive  me,  father,"  interrupted  Morris  with  a  ring 
of  indignation  in  his  voice;  "but  you  must  remember 
that  I  put  you  to  no  expense.  In  addition  to  what  I 
inherited  from  my  mother,  which,  of  course,  under  the 
circumstances  I  do  not  ask  for,  I  have  my  fellowship, 
out  of  which  I  contribute  something  towards  the  cost  of 
my  living  and  experiments,  that,  by  the  way,  I  keep  as 
low  as  possible." 


THE  COLONEL  AND  SOME  REFLECTIONS       15 

"Of  course,  of  course,"  said  the  Colonel,  who  did  not 
wish  to  pursue  this  branch  of  the  subject,  but  his  son 
went  on : 

"  You  know  also  it  was  at  your  express  wish  that  I 
came  to  live  here  at  Monksland,  as  for  the  purposes  of 
my  work  it  would  have  suited  me  much  better  to  take 
rooms  in  London  or  some  other  scientific  centre." 

"  Really,  my  dear  boy,  you  should  control  yourself," 
broke  in  his  father.  "That  is  always  the  way  with 
recluses ;  they  cannot  bear  the  slightest  criticism.  Of 
course,  as  you  were  going  to  devote  yourself  to  this  line 
of  research  it  was  right  and  proper  that  we  should  live 
together.  Surely  you  would  not  wish  at  my  age  that 
I  should  be  deprived  of  the  comfort  of  the  society  of  an 
only  child,  especially  now  that  your  mother  has  left  us  ? " 

"  Certainly  not,  father,"  answered  Morris,  softening, 
as  was  his  fashion  at  the  thought  of  his  dead  mother. 

Then  came  a  pause,  and  he  hoped  that  the  conversa- 
tion was  at  end ;  a  vain  hope,  as  it  proved. 

"  My  real  object  in  troubling  you,  Morris,"  continued 
his  father,  presently,  "  was  very  different  to  the  unneces- 
sary discussions  into  which  we  have  drifted." 

His  son  looked  up,  but  said  nothing.  Again  he  knew 
what  was  coming,  and  it  was  worse  than  anything  that 
had  gone  before. 

"  This  place  seems  very  solitary  with  the  two  of  us 
living  in  its  great  rooms.  I,  who  am  getting  an  old 
fellow,  and  you  a  student  and  a  recluse  —  no,  don't 
deny  it,  for  nowadays  I  can  barely  persuade  you  to 
attend  even  the  Bench  or  a  lawn-tennis  party.  Well, 
fortunately,  we  have  power  to  add  to  our  numbers ;  or 
at  least  you  have.  I  wish  you  would  marry,  Morris." 


16  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

His  son  turned  sharply,  and  answered : 

"  Thank  you,  father,  but  I  have  no  fancy  that  way." 

"  Now,  there's  Jane  Rose,  or  that  handsome  Eliza 
Layard,"  went  on  the  Colonel,  taking  no  notice.  "  I 
have  reason  to  know  that  you  might  have  either  of 
them  for  the  asking,  and  they  are  both  good  women 
without  a  breath  against  them,  and,  what  in  the  state  of 
this  property  is  not  without  importance,  very  well  to  do. 
Jane  gets  fifty  thousand  pounds  down  on  the  day  of  her 
marriage,  and  as  much  more,  together  with  the  place,  upon 
old  Lady  Rose's  death ;  while  Miss  Layard  —  if  she  is  not 
quite  to  the  manner  born  —  has  the  interest  in  that  great 
colliery  and  a  rather  sickly  brother.  Lastly  —  and  this  is 
strange  enough,  considering  how  you  treat  them  —  they 
admire  you,  or  at  least  Eliza  does,  for  she  told  me  she 
thought  you  the  most  interesting  man  she  had  ever  met." 

"  Did  she  indeed ! "  ejaculated  Morris.  "Why,  I  have 
only  spoken  three  times  to  her  during  the  last  year." 

"  No  doubt,  my  dear  boy,  that  is  why  she  thinks  you 
interesting.  To  her  you  are  a  mine  of  splendid  possi- 
bilities. But  I  understand  that  you  don't  like  either  of 
them." 

"  No,  not  particularly  —  especially  Eliza  Layard,  who 
isn't  a  lady,  and  has  a  vicious  temper  —  nor  any  young 
woman  whom  I  have  ever  met." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  candidly,  Morris,  that  at 
your  age  you  detest  women  ?  " 

"  I  don't  say  that ;  I  only  say  that  I  never  met  one  to 
whom  I  felt  much  attracted,  and  that  I  have  met  a  great 
many  by  whom  I  was  repelled." 

"  Decidedly,  Morris,  in  you  the  strain  of  the  ancestral 
fish  is  too  predominant.  It  isn't  natural ;  it  really  isn't. 


THE  COLONEL  AND  SOME  REFLECTIONS       \f 

You  ought  to  have  been  born  three  centuries  ago,  when 
the  old  monks  lived  here.  You  would  have  made  a 
first-class  abbot,  and  might  have  been  canonised  by  now. 
Am  I  to  understand,  then,  that  you  absolutely  decline  to 
marry  ?  " 

"  No,  father;  I  don't  want  you  to  understand  anything 
of  the  sort.  If  I  could  meet  a  lady  whom  I  liked,  and 
who  wouldn't  expect  too  much,  and  who  was  foolish 
enough  to  wish  to  take  me,  of  course  I  should  marry 
her,  as  you  are  so  bent  upon  it." 

"  Well,  Morris,  and  what  sort  of  a  woman  would  fulfil 
the  conditions,  to  your  notion  ?  " 

His  son  looked  about  him  vaguely,  as  though  he  ex- 
pected to  find  his  ideal  in  some  nook  of  the  dim  garden. 

"  What  sort  of  a  woman  ?  Well,  somebody  like  my 
cousin  Mary,  I  suppose  —  an  easy-going  person  of  that 
kind,  who  always  looks  pleasant  and  cool." 

Morris  did  not  see  him,  for  he  had  turned  his  head 
away;  but  at  the  mention  of  Mary  Person's  name  his 
father  started,  as  though  someone  had  pricked  him  with 
a  pin.  But  Colonel  Monk  had  not  commanded  a  regi- 
ment with  some  success  and  been  a  military  attach^  for 
nothing ;  having  filled  diplomatic  positions,  public  and 
private,  in  his  time,  he  could  keep  his  countenance,  and 
play  his  part  when  he  chose.  Indeed,  did  his  simpler- 
minded  son  but  know  it,  all  that  evening  he  had  been 
playing  a  part. 

"  Oh  !  that's  your  style,  is  it  ?  "  he  said.  "  Well,  at 
your  age  I  should  have  preferred  something  a  little  differ- 
ent. But  there  is  no  accounting  for  tastes  ;  and  after  all, 
Mary  is  a  beautiful  woman,  and  clever  in  her  own  way. 
By  Jove!  there's  one  o'clock  striking,  and  I  promised 


1 8  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

old  Charters  that  I  would  always  be  in  bed  by  half-past 
eleven.  Good  night,  my  boy.  By  the  way,  you  remem- 
ber that  your  uncle  Person  is  coming  to  Seaview  to- 
morrow from  London,  and  that  we  are  engaged  to  dine 
with  him  at  eight.  Fancy  a  man  who  could  build  that 
pretentious  monstrosity  and  call  it  Seaview !  Well,  it 
will  condemn  him  to  the  seventh  generation ;  but  in  this 
world  one  must  take  people  as  one  finds  them,  and  their 
houses,  too.  Mind  you  lock  the  garden  door  when  you 
come  in.  Good  night." 

"  Really,"  thought  Colonel  Monk  to  himself  as  he  took 
off  his  dress-shoes  and,  with  military  precision,  set  them 
side  by  side  beneath  a  chair,  "  it  does  seem  a  little  hard 
on  me  that  I  should  be  responsible  for  a  son  who  is 
in  love  with  a  damned,  unworkable  electrical  machine. 
And  with  his  chances — with  his  chances !  Why  he  might 
have  been  a  second  secretary  in  the  Diplomatic  Service 
by  now,  or  anything  else  to  which  interest  could  help 
him.  And  there  he  sits  hour  after  hour  gabbling  down 
a  little  trumpet  and  listening  for  an  answer  which  never 
comes  —  hour  after  hour,  and  month  after  month,  and 
year  after  year.  Is  he  a  genius,  or  is  he  an  idiot,  or  a 
moral  curiosity,  or  simply  useless?  I'm  hanged  if  I 
know,  but  that's  a  good  idea  about  Mary;  though,  of 
course,  there  are  things  against  it.  Curious  that  I  should 
never  have  considered  the  matter  seriously  before  —  be- 
cause of  the  cousinship,  I  suppose.  Would  she  have 
him  ?  It  doesn't  seem  likely,  but  you  can  never  know 
what  a  woman  will  or  will  not  do,  and  as  a  child  she  was 
very  fond  of  Morris.  At  any  rate  the  situation  is  des- 
perate, and  if  I  can,  I  mean  to  save  the  old  place,  for  his 
sake  and  our  family's,  as  well  as  my  own." 


THE  COLONEL  AND  SOME  REFLECTIONS       19 

He  went  to  the  window,  and,  lifting  a  corner  of  the 
blind,  looked  out.  "  There  he  is,  still  staring  at  the  sea 
and  the  sky,  and  there  I  daresay  he  will  be  till  dawn.  I 
bet  he  has  forgotten  all  about  Mary  now,  and  is  thinking 
of  his  electrical  machine.  What  a  curiosity !  Good 
heavens ;  what  a  curiosity !  Ah,  I  wonder  what  they 
would  have  made  of  him  in  my  old  mess  five  and  thirty 
years  ago  ? "  And  quite  overcome  by  this  reflection, 
the  Colonel  shook  his  grizzled  head,  put  out  the  candle, 
and  retired  to  rest. 

His  father  was  right.  The  beautiful  September  dawn 
was  breaking  over  the  placid  sea  before  Morris  brushed 
the  night  dew  from  his  hair  and  cloak,  and  went  in  by 
the  abbot's  door. 

What  was  he  thinking  of  all  the  time  ?  He  scarcely 
knew.  One  by  one,  like  little  clouds  in  the  summer  sky, 
fancies  arose  in  his  mind  to  sail  slowly  across  its  depth 
and  vanish  upon  an  inconclusive  and  shadowy  horizon. 
Of  course,  he  thought  about  his  instruments ;  these  were 
never  absent  from  his  heart.  His  instinct  flew  back  to 
them  as  an  oasis,  as  an  island  of  rest  in  the  wilderness 
of  his  father's  thorny  and  depressing  conversation.  The 
instruments  were  disappointing,  it  is  true,  at  present; 
but,  at  any  rate,  they  did  not  dwell  gloomily  upon  im- 
pending ruin  or  suggest  that  it  was  his  duty  to  get  mar- 
ried. They  remained  silent,  distressingly  silent  indeed. 

Well,  as  the  question  of  marriage  had  been  started, 
he  might  as  well  face  it  out;  that  is,  argue  it  in  his 
mind,  reduce  it  to  its  principles,  follow  it  to  its  issues 
in  a  reasonable  and  scientific  manner.  What  were  the 
facts  ?  His  family,  which,  by  tradition,  was  reported 


20  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

to  be  Danish  in  its  origin,  had  owned  this  property  for 
several  hundred  years,  though  how  they  came  to  own 
it  remained  a  matter  of  dispute.  Some  said  that  the 
Abbey  and  its  lands  were  granted  to  a  man  of  the  name 
of  Monk  by  Henry  VIII.,  of  course  for  a  consideration. 
Others  held,  and  evidence  existed  in  favour  of  this  view, 
that  on  the  dissolution  of  the  monastery  the  abbot  of 
the  day,  a  shrewd  man  of  easy  principles,  managed  to 
possess  himself  of  the  Chapter  House  and  further  ex- 
tensive hereditaments,  of  course  with  the  connivance  of 
the  Commissioners,  and,  providing  himself  with  a  wife, 
to  exchange  a  spiritual  for  a  temporal  dignity.  At  least 
this  remained  certain,  that  from  the  time  of  Elizabeth 
onwards  Morris's  forefathers  had  been  settled  in  the  old 
Abbey  house  at  Monksland;  that  the  first  of  them  about 
whom  they  really  knew  anything  was  named  Monk,  and 
that  Monk  was  still  the  family  name. 

Now  they  were  all  dead  and  done  with,  and  their  his- 
tory, which  was  undistinguished,  does  not  matter.  To 
come  to  the  present  day.  His  father  succeeded  to  a 
diminished  and  encumbered  estate ;  indeed,  had  it  not 
been  for  the  fortune  of  his  mother,  a  Miss  Person  and 
one  of  a  middle  class  and  business,  but  rather  wealthy 
family,  the  property  must  have  been  sold  years  before. 
That  fortune,  however,  had  long  ago  been  absorbed  — 
or  so  he  gathered  —  for  his  father,  a  brilliant  and  fash- 
ionable army  officer,  was  not  the  man  to  stint  himself  or 
to  nurse  a  crippled  property.  Indeed,  it  was  wonderful 
to  Morris  how,  without  any  particular  change  in  their 
style  of  living,  which,  if  unpretentious,  was  not  cheap,  in 
these  bad  times  they  had  managed  to  keep  afloat  at  all. 

Unworldly  as  Morris  might  be,  he  could  easily  guess 


THE  COLONEL  AND  SOME  REFLECTIONS       21 

why  his  father  wished  that  he  should  marry,  and  marry 
well.  It  was  that  he  might  bolster  up  the  fortunes  of  a 
shattered  family.  Also  —  and  this  touched  him,  this 
commanded  his  sympathy  —  he  was  the  last  of  his  race. 
If  he  died  without  issue  the  ancient  name  of  Monk 
became  extinct,  a  consummation  from  which  his  father 
shrank  with  something  like  horror. 

The  Colonel  was  a  selfish  man  —  Morris  could  not 
conceal  it,  even  from  himself  —  one  who  had  always 
thought  of  his  own  comfort  and  convenience  first.  Yet, 
either  from  idleness  or  pride,  to  advance  these  he  had 
never  stooped  to  scheme.  Where  the  welfare  of  his 
family  was  concerned,  however,  as  his  son  knew,  he  was 
a  schemer.  That  desire  was  the  one  real  and  sub- 
stantial thing  in  a  somewhat  superficial,  egotistic,  and 
finessing  character. 

Morris  saw  it  all  as  he  leaned  there  upon  the  railing, 
staring  at  the  mist-draped  sea,  more  clearly,  indeed,  than 
he  had  ever  seen  it  before.  He  understood,  moreover, 
what  an  unsatisfactory  son  he  must  be  to  a  man  like  his 
father  —  if  it  had  tried,  Providence  could  hardly  have 
furnished  him  with  offspring  more  unsuitable.  The 
Colonel  had  wished  him  to  enter  the  Diplomatic  Service, 
or  the  Army,  or  at  least  to  get  himself  called  to  the  Bar ; 
but  although  a  really  brilliant  University  career  and  his 
family  influence  would  have  given  him  advantages  in  any 
of  these  professions,  he  had  declined  them  all.  So,  fol- 
lowing his  natural  bent,  he  became  an  electrician,  and 
now,  abandoning  the  practical  side  of  that  modest  call- 
ing, he  was  an  experimental  physicist,  full  of  deep  but 
unremunerative  lore,  and  —  an  unsuccessful  inventor. 
Certainly  he  owed  something  to  his  family,  and  if  his 


22  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

father  wished  that  he  should  marry,  well,  marry  he 
must,  as  a  matter  of  duty,  if  for  no  other  reason.  After 
all,  the  thing  was  not  pressing;  for  if  it  came  to  the 
point,  what  woman  was  likely  to  accept  him  ?  All  he 
had  done  to-night  was  to  settle  the  general  principles  in 
his  own  mind.  When  it  became  necessary  —  if  ever  — 
he  could  deal  with  the  details. 

And  yet  this  sort  of  marriage  which  was  proposed  to 
him,  was  it  not  an  unholy  business  ?  He  cared  little  for 
women,  having  no  weakness  that  way,  probably  because 
the  energy  which  other  young  men  give  to  the  pursuit 
of  them  was  in  his  case  absorbed  by  intense  and  brain- 
exhausting  study.  Therefore  he  was  not  a  man  who 
if  left  to  himself,  would  marry,  as  so  many  do,  merely 
in  order  to  be  married ;  indeed,  the  idea  to  him  was 
almost  repulsive.  Had  he  been  a  woman-hater,  he 
might  have  accepted  it  more  easily,  for  then  to  him 
one  would  have  been  as  the  other.  But  the  trouble  was 
that  he  knew  and  felt  that  a  time  might  come  when  in 
his  eyes  one  woman  would  be  different  from  all  others, 
a  being  who  spoke  not  to  his  physical  nature  only,  if  at 
all,  but  to  the  core  within  him.  And  if  that  happened, 
what  then  ? 

Look,  the  sun  was  rising.  On  the  eastern  sky  of  a 
sudden  two  golden  doors  had  opened  in  the  canopy  of 
night,  and  in  and  out  of  them  seemed  to  pass  glittering, 
swift-winged  things,  as  souls  might  tread  the  Gate  of 
Heaven.  Look,  too,  at  the  little  clouds  that  in  an  un- 
ending stream  floated  out  of  gloom  —  travellers  pressed 
onwards  by  a  breath  of  destiny.  They  were  leaden- 
hued  all  of  them,  black,  indeed,  at  times,  until  they 
caught  the  radiance,  and  for  a  while  became  like  the 


THE  COLONEL  AND  SOME  REFLECTIONS       23 

pennons  of  an  angel's  wings.  Then  one  by  one  the 
glory  overtook  and  embraced  them,  and  they  melted  into 
it  to  be  seen  no  more. 

What  did  the  sight  suggest  to  him  ?  That  it  was 
worth  while,  perhaps,  to  be  a  mere  drift  of  cloud,  storm- 
driven  and  rain-laden  in  the  bitter  Night  of  Life,  if  the 
Morning  of  Deliverance  brought  such  transformation  on 
its  wings.  That  beyond  some  such  gates  as  these,  gates 
that  at  times,  greatly  daring,  he  longed  to  tread,  lay  the 
answer  to  many  a  mystery.  Amongst  other  things, 
perhaps,  there  he  would  learn  the  meaning  of  true  mar- 
riage, and  why  it  is  denied  to  most  dwellers  of  the  earth. 
Without  a  union  of  the  spirit  was  there  indeed  any 
marriage  as  it  should  be  understood  ?  And  who  in  this 
world  could  hope  to  find  his  fellow  spirit  ? 

See,  the  sun  had  risen,  the  golden  gates  were  shut. 
He  had  been  dreaming,  and  was  chilled  to  the  bone. 
Wretchedness,  mental  and  bodily,  took  hold  of  him. 
Well,  often  enough  such  is  the  fate  of  those  who 
dream ;  those  who  turn  from  their  needful,  daily  tasks 
to  shape  an  angel  out  of  this  world's  clay,  trusting  to 
some  unknown  god  to  give  it  life  and  spirit. 


CHAPTER  III 
"  POOR  PORSON  " 

UPON  the  morning  following  his  conversation  with 
Morris,  Colonel  Monk  spent  two  hours  or  more  in  the 
library.  Painfully  did  he  wrestle  there  with  balance- 
sheets,  adding  up  bank  books ;  also  other  financial 
documents. 

"  Phew ! "  he  said,  when  at  length  the  job  was  done. 
"  It  is  worse  than  I  thought,  a  good  deal  worse.  My 
credit  must  be  excellent,  or  somebody  would  have  been 
down  upon  us  before  now.  Well,  I  must  talk  things 
over  with  Person.  He  understands  figures,  and  so  he 
ought,  considering  that  he  kept  the  books  in  his  grand- 
father's shop." 

Then  the  Colonel  went  to  lunch  less  downcast  than 
might  have  been  expected,  since  he  anticipated  a  not 
unamusing  half-hour  with  his  son.  As  he  knew  well, 
Morris  detested  business  matters  and  money  calcula- 
tions. Still,  reflected  his  parent,  it  was  only  right  that 
he  should  take  his  share  of  the  family  responsibilities 
—  a  fact  which  he  fully  intended  to  explain  to  him. 

But  "  in  vain  is  the  net  spread,"  etc.  As  Morris  passed 
the  door  of  the  library  on  his  way  to  the  old  chapel 
of  the  Abbey,  which  now  served  him  as  a  laboratory,  he 
had  seen  his  father  bending  over  the  desk  and  guessed 
his  occupation.  Knowing,  therefore,  what  he  must  ex- 

24 


"POOR  PORSON"  25 

pect  at  lunch,  Morris  determined  to  dispense  with  that 
meal,  and  went  out,  much  to  the  Colonel's  disappoint- 
ment and  indignation.  "  I  hate,"  he  explained  to  his 
brother-in-law  Porson  afterwards,  "yes,  I  hate  a  fellow  who 
won't  face  disagreeables  and  shirks  his  responsibilities." 

Between  Monksland  and  the  town  of  Northwold  lay 
some  four  miles  of  cliff,  most  of  which  had  been  portioned 
off  in  building  lots,  for  Northwold  was  what  is  called  a 
"  rising  watering  place."  About  half-way  between  the 
Abbey  and  this  town  stood  Mr.  Person's  mansion.  In 
fact,  it  was  nothing  but  a  dwelling  like  those  about 
it,  presenting  the  familiar  seaside  gabled  roofs  of  red 
tiles,  and  stucco  walls  decorated  in  sham  woodwork, 
with  the  difference  that  the  house  was  exceedingly 
well  built  and  about  four  times  as  large  as  the  aver- 
age villa. 

"  Great  heavens !  what  a  place  !  "  said  the  Colonel  to 
himself  as  he  halted  at  the  private  gateway  which 
opened  on  to  the  cliff  and  surveyed  it  affronting  sea 
and  sky  in  all  its  naked  horror.  "  Show  me  the  house 
and  I  will  show  you  the  man,"  he  went  on  to  himself ; 
"  but,  after  all,  one  mustn't  judge  him  too  hardly.  Poor 
Porson,  he  did  not  arrange  his  own  up-bringing  or  his 
ancestors.  Hullo  !  there  he  is. 

"  John,  John,  John ! "  he  shouted  at  a  stout  little  person 
clad  in  a  black  alpaca  coat,  a  straw  hat,  and  a  pair  of 
spectacles,  who  was  engaged  in  sad  contemplation  of  a 
bed  of  dying  evergreens. 

At  the  sound  of  that  well-known  voice  the  little  man 
jumped  as  though  he  had  trodden  on  a  pin,  and  turned 
round  slowly,  muttering  to  himself. 

"Gracious!     It's  him!"  an  ungrammatical  sentence 


26  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

which  indicated  sufficiently  how  wide  a  niche  in  the 
temple  of  his  mind  was  filled  with  the  image  of  his 
brother-in-law,  Colonel  Monk. 

John  Person  was  a  man  of  about  six  or  eight  and 
fifty,  round-faced,  bald,  with  large  blue  eyes  not  unlike 
those  of  a  china  doll,  and  clean-shaven  except  for  a  pair 
of  sandy-coloured  mutton-chop  whiskers.  In  expression 
he  was  gentle,  even  timid,  and  in  figure  short  and  stout. 
At  this  very  moment  behind  a  hundred  counters  stand 
a  hundred  replicas  of  that  good-hearted  man  and  worthy 
citizen,  John  Person.  Can  he  be  described  better  or 
more  briefly  ? 

"How  are  you,  Colonel  ?"  he  said,  hurrying  forward. 
He  had  never  yet  dared  to  call  his  brother-in-law 
"  Monk,"  and  much  less  by  his  Christian  name,  so  he 
compromised  on  "  Colonel." 

"  Pretty  well,  thank  you,  considering  my  years  and 
botherations.  And  how  are  you,  John  ?  " 

"  Not  very  grand,  not  very  grand,"  said  the  little 
man ;  "  my  heart  has  been  troubling  me,  and  it  was  so 
dreadfully  hot  in  London." 

"  Then  why  didn't  you  come  away  ? " 

"Really  I  don't  know.  I  understood  that  it  had 
something  to  do  with  a  party,  but  I  think  the  fact  is 
that  Mary  was  too  lazy  to  look  after  the  servants  while 
they  packed  up." 

"  Perhaps  she  had  some  attraction  there,"  suggested 
the  Colonel,  with  an  anxiety  which  might  have  been 
obvious  to  a  more  skilled  observer. 

"  Attraction  !     What  do  you  mean  ? "  asked  Person. 

"  Mean,  you  old  goose  ?  Why,  what  should  I  mean  ? 
A  young  man,  of  course." 


"POOR  PORSON"  27 

"Oh!  I  see.  No,  I  am  sure  it  was  nothing  of  that 
sort.  Mary  won't  be  bothered  with  young  men.  She 
is  too  lazy ;  she  just  looks  over  their  heads  till  they  get 
tired  and  go  away.  I  am  sure  it  was  the  packing, 
or,  perhaps,  the  party.  But  what  are  you  staring  at, 
Colonel  ?  Is  there  anything  wrong  ?  " 

"  No,  no ;  only  that  wonderful  window  of  yours  —  the 
one  filled  with  bottle  glass  —  which  always  reminds  me 
of  a  bull's-eye  lantern  standing  on  a  preserved-beef  tin, 
or  the  top  of  a  toy  lighthouse." 

Person  peered  at  the  offending  window  through  his 
spectacles. 

"  Certainly,  now  you  mention  it,  it  does  look  a  little 
odd  from  here,"  he  said ;  "  naked,  rather.  You  said  so 
before,  you  remember,  and  I  told  them  to  plant  the 
shrubs ;  but  while  I  was  away  they  let  every  one  of  the 
poor  things  die.  I  will  ask  my  architect,  Jenkins,  if  he 
can't  do  anything ;  it  might  be  pulled  down,  perhaps." 

"  Better  leave  it  alone,"  said  the  Colonel,  with  a  sniff. 
"  If  I  know  anything  of  Jenkins  he'd  only  put  up 
something  worse.  I  tell  you,  John,  that  where  bricks 
and  mortar  are  concerned  that  man's  a  moral  monster." 

"  I  know  you  don't  like  his  style,"  murmured  Person; 
"  but  won't  you  come  in,  it  is  so  hot  out  here  in  the  sun  ? " 

"  Thank  you,  yes,  but  let  us  go  to  that  place  you  call 
your  den,  not  to  the  drawing-room.  If  you  can  spare 
it,  I  want  half-an-hour  with  you.  That's  why  I  came 
over  in  the  afternoon,  before  dinner." 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  murmured  Person  again,  as  he 
led  the  way  to  the  "  den,"  but  to  himself  he  added:  "It's 
those  mortgages,  I'll  bet.  Oh  dear !  oh  dear !  when 
shall  I  see  the  last  of  them  ? " 


28  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

Presently  they  were  established  in  the  den,  the 
Colonel  very  cool  and  comfortable  in  Mr.  Person's  arm- 
chair, and  Person  himself  perched  upon  the  edge  of  a 
new-looking  leather  sofa  in  an  attitude  of  pained 
expectancy. 

"  Now  I  am  at  your  service,  Colonel,"  he  said. 

"  Oh !  yes ;  well,  it  is  just  this.  I  want  you,  if  you 
will,  to  look  through  these  figures  for  me,"  and  he 
produced  and  handed  to  him  a  portentous  document 
headed  "  List  of  Obligations." 

Mr.  Porson  glanced  at  it,  and  instantly  his  round, 
simple  face  became  clever  and  alert.  Here  he  was  on 
his  own  ground.  In  five  minutes  he  had  mastered  the 
thing. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  in  a  quick  voice,  "  this  is  quite  clear, 
but  there  is  some  mistake  in  the  addition  making  a  dif- 
ference of  ;£8/  3.?.  iod.  in  your  favour.  Well,  where  is 
the  schedule  of  assets  ? " 

"The  schedule  of  assets,  my  dear  John?  I  wish  I 
knew.  I  have  my  pension,  and  there  are  the  Abbey 
and  estates,  which,  as  things  are,  seem  to  be  mortgaged 
to  their  full  value.  That's  about  all,  I  think.  Unless 
—  unless  "  —  and  he  laughed,  "  we  throw  in  Morris's 
patent  electrical  machine,  which  won't  work." 

"  It  ought  to  be  reckoned,  perhaps,"  replied  Mr. 
Porson  gravely;  adding  in  a  kind  of  burst,  with  an  air 
of  complete  conviction  :  "  I  believe  in  Morris's  machine, 
or,  at  least,  I  believe  in  Morris.  He  has  the  mak- 
ings of  a  great  man  —  no,  of  a  great  inventor  about 
him." 

"  Do  you  really  ? "  replied  the  Colonel,  much  inter- 
ested. "  That  is  curious  —  and  encouraging ;  for,  my 


« POOR  PORSON"  29 

dear  John,  where  business  matters  are  concerned,  I 
trust  your  judgment." 

"  But  I  doubt  whether  he  will  make  any  money  out 
of  it,"  went  on  Person.  "  One  day  the  world  will  bene- 
fit; probably  he  will  not  benefit." 

The  Colonel's  interest  faded.  "  Possibly,  John  ;  but,  if 
so,  perhaps  for  present  purposes  we  may  leave  this 
mysterious  discovery  out  of  the  question." 

"  I  think  so,  I  think  so  ;  but  what  is  the  point  ? " 

"  The  point  is  that  I  seem  to  be  about  at  the  end  of 
my  tether,  although,  as  yet,  I  am  glad  to  say,  nobody 
has  actually  pressed  me,  and  I  have  come  to  you,  as  a 
friend  and  a  relative,  for  advice.  What  is  to  be  done  ? 
I  have  sold  you  all  the  valuable  land,  and  I  am  glad 
to  think  that  you  have  made  a  very  good  thing  of  it. 
Some  years  ago,  also,  you  took  over  the  two  heaviest 
mortgages  on  the  Abbey  estate,  and  I  am  sorry  to 
say  that  the  interest  is  considerably  in  arrear.  There 
remain  the  floating  debts  and  other  charges,  amounting 
in  all  to  about  ^7,000,  which  I  have  no  means  of  meet- 
ing, and  meanwhile,  of  course,  the  place  must  be  kept 
up.  Under  these  circumstances,  John,  I  ask  you  as  a 
business  man,  what  is  to  be  done  ? " 

"  And,  as  a  business  man,  I  say  I'm  hanged  if  I  know," 
said  Person,  with  unwonted  energy.  "All  debts,  no 
assets  —  the  position  is  impossible.  Unless,  indeed, 
something  happens." 

"  Quite  so.  That's  it.  My  only  comfort  is  —  that 
something  might  happen,"  and  he  paused. 

Person  fidgeted  about  on  the  edge  of  the  leather  sofa 
and  turned  red.  In  his  heart  he  was  wondering  whether 
he  dared  offer  to  pay  off  the  debts.  This  he  was  quite 


30  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

able  to  do;  more,  he  was  willing  to  do,  since  to  him, 
good  simple  man,  the  welfare  of  the  ancient  house  of 
Monk,  of  which  his  only  sister  had  married  the  head, 
was  a  far  more  important  thing  than  parting  with  a  cer- 
tain number  of  thousands  of  pounds.  For  birth  and 
station,  in  his  plebeian  humility,  John  Porson  had  a  rev- 
erence which  was  almost  superstitious.  Moreover,  he 
had  loved  his  dead  sister  dearly,  and,  in  his  way,  he 
loved  her  son  also.  Also  he  revered  his  brother-in-law, 
the  polished  and  splendid-looking  Colonel,  although  it 
was  true  that  sometimes  he  writhed  beneath  his  military 
and  aristocratic  heel.  Particularly,  indeed,  did  he  resent, 
in  his  secret  heart,  those  continual  sarcasms  about  his 
taste  in  architecture. 

Now,  although  the  monetary  transactions  between 
them  had  been  many,  as  luck  would  have  it — entirely 
without  his  own  design — they  chanced  in  the  main  to 
have  turned  to  his,  Person's,  advantage.  Thus,  owing 
chiefly  to  his  intelligent  development  of  its  possibilities, 
the  land  which  he  bought  from  the  Monk  estate  had 
increased  enormously  in  value ;  so  much  so,  indeed,  that, 
even  if  he  lost  all  the  other  sums  advanced  upon  mort- 
gage, he  would  still  be  considerably  to  the  good.  There- 
fore, as  it  happened,  the  Colonel  was  really  under  no 
obligations  to  him.  In  these  circumstances,  Mr.  Porson 
did  not  quite  know  how  a  cold-blooded  offer  of  an  ad- 
vance of  cash  without  security  —  in  practice  a  gift  — 
would  be  received. 

"  Have  you  anything  definite  in  your  mind  ? "  he  hesi- 
tated, timidly. 

The  Colonel  reflected.  On  his  part  he  was  wondering 
how  Porson  would  receive  the  suggestion  of  a  substan- 


"POOR  PORSON"  31 

tial  loan.  It  seemed  too  much  to  risk.  He  was  proud, 
and  did  not  like  to  lay  himself  open  to  the  possibility 
of  rebuff. 

"  I  think  not,  John.  Unless  Morris  should  chance  to 
make  a  good  marriage,  which  is  unlikely,  for,  as  you 
know,  he  is  an  odd  fish,  I  can  see  nothing  before  us 
except  ruin.  Indeed,  at  my  age,  it  does  not  greatly 
matter,  but  it  seems  a  pity  that  the  old  house  should 
come  to  an  end  in  such  a  melancholy  and  discreditable 
fashion." 

"  A  pity  !  It  is  more  than  a  pity,"  jerked  out  Person, 
with  a  sudden  wriggle  which  caused  him  to  rock  up 
and  down  upon  the  stiff  springs  of  the  new  sofa. 

As  he  spoke  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door,  and 
from  the  further  side  of  it  a  slow,  rich  voice  was  heard, 
saying  :  "  May  I  come  in  ? " 

"  That's  Mary,"  said  Mr.  Person.  "  Yes,  come  in, 
dear;  it's  only  your  uncle." 

The  door  opened,  Mary  came  in,  and,  in  some  curious 
quiet  way,  at  once  her  personality  seemed  to  take  pos- 
session of  and  dominate  that  shaded  room.  To  begin 
with,  her  stature  gave  an  idea  of  dominion,  for,  without 
being  at  all  coarse,  she  was  tall  and  full  in  frame.  The 
face  also  was  somewhat  massive,  with  a  rounded  chin 
and  large,  blue  eyes  that  had  a  trick  of  looking  half 
asleep,  and  above  a  low,  broad  forehead  grew  her  wav- 
ing, golden  hair,  parted  simply  in  the  middle  after  the 
old  Greek  fashion.  She  wore  a  white  dress,  with  a  sil- 
ver girdle  that  set  off  the  beautiful  outlines  of  her  figure 
to  great  advantage,  and  with  her  a  perfume  seemed  to 
pass,  perhaps  from  the  roses  on  her  bosom. 

"  A  beautiful  woman,"  thought  the  Colonel  to  himself, 


32  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

as  she  came  in,  and  he  was  no  mean  or  inexperienced 
judge.  "A  beautiful  woman,  but  a  regular  lotus-eater." 

"  How  do  you  do,  Uncle  Richard  ? "  said  Mary,  paus- 
ing about  six  feet  away  and  holding  out  her  hand.  "  I 
heard  you  scolding  my  poor  dad  about  his  bow-window. 
In  fact,  you  woke  me  up ;  and,  do  you  know,  you  used 
exactly  the  same  words  as  you  did  at  your  visit  after  we 
came  down  from  London  last  year." 

"  Bless  me,  my  dear,"  said  the  Colonel,  struggling  to 
his  feet,  and  kissing  his  niece  upon  the  forehead,  "  what 
a  memory  you  have  got !  It  will  get  you  into  trouble 
some  day." 

"  I  daresay  —  me,  or  somebody  else.  But  history  re- 
peated itself,  uncle,  that  is  all.  The  same  sleepy  Me 
in  a  lounge-chair,  the  same  hot  day,  the  same  blue-bottle, 
and  the  same  You  scolding  the  same  Daddy  about  the 
same  window.  Though  what  on  earth  dad's  window 
can  matter  to  anyone  except  himself,  I  can't  under- 
stand." 

"  I  daresay  not,  my  dear ;  I  daresay  not.  We  can 
none  of  us  know  everything  —  not  even  latter  day 
young  ladies  —  but  I  suggest  that  a  few  hours  with 
Fergussen's  '  Handbook  of  Architecture '  might  en- 
lighten you  on  the  point." 

Mary  reflected,  but  the  only  repartee  that  she  could 
conjure  at  the  moment  was  something  about  ancient 
lights  which  did  not  seem  appropriate.  Therefore,  as 
she  thought  that  she  had  done  enough  for  honour,  and 
to  remind  her  awe-inspiring  relative  that  he  could  not 
suppress  her,  suddenly  she  changed  the  subject. 

"You  are  looking  very  well,  uncle,"  she  said,  survey- 
ing him  calmly ;  "  and  younger  than  you  did  last  year. 


"POOR  PORSON"  33 

How  is  my  cousin  Morris?  Will  the  aerophone  talk 
yet?" 

"  Be  careful,"  said  the  Colonel,  gallantly.  "  If  even 
my  grey  hairs  can  provoke  a  compliment,  what  homage 
is  sufficient  for  a  Sleeping  Beauty  ?  As  for  Morris,  he 
is,  I  believe,  much  as  usual ;  at  least  he  stood  this  morn- 
ing till  daybreak  staring  at  the  sea.  I  understand,  how- 
ever—  if  he  doesn't  forget  to  come  —  that  you  are  to 
have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  him  this  evening,  when  you 
will  be  able  to  judge  for  yourself." 

"Now,  don't  be  sarcastic  about  Morris,  uncle;  I'd 
rather  you  went  on  abusing  dad's  window." 

"Certainly  not,  my  dear,  if  it  displeases  you.  But 
may  I  ask  why  he  is  to  be  considered  sacred  ? " 

"  Why  ? "  she  answered,  and  a  genuine  note  crept 
into  her  bantering  voice.  "  Because  he  is  one  of  the  few 
men  worth  anything  whom  I  ever  chanced  to  meet  — 
except  dad  there  and " 

"JSpare  me,"  cut  in  the  Colonel,  with  admirable  skill,  for 
well  he  knew  that  his  name  was  not  upon  the  lady's  lips. 
"  But  would  it  be  impertinent  to  inquire  what  it  is  that 
constitutes  Morris's  preeminent  excellence  in  your  eyes  ? " 

"  Of  course  not ;  only  it  is  three  things,  not  one. 
First,  he  works  harder  than  any  man  I  know,  and  I 
think  men  who  work  adorable,  because  I  am  so  lazy 
myself.  Secondly,  he  thinks  a  great  deal,  and  very 
few  people  do  that  to  any  purpose.  Thirdly,  I  never 
feel  inclined  to  go  to  sleep  when  he  takes  me  in  to  din- 
ner. Oh !  you  may  laugh  if  you  like,  but  ask  dad  what 
happened  to  me  last  month  with  that  wretched  old  mem- 
ber of  the  Government,  and  before  the  sweets,  too !  " 

"  Please,  please,"    put   in   Mr.  Person,  turning   pink 


34  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

under  pressure  of  some  painful  recollection.  "  If  you 
have  finished  sparring  with  your  uncle,  isn't  there  any 
tea,  Mary?" 

"I  believe  so,"  she  said,  relapsing  into  a  state  of 
bland  indifference.  "  I'll  go  and  see.  If  I  don't  come 
back,  you'll  know  it  is  there,"  and  Mary  passed  through 
the  door  with  that  indolent,  graceful  walk  which  no  one 
could  mistake  who  once  had  seen  her. 

Both  her  father  and  her  uncle  looked  after  her  with 
admiration.  Mr.  Person  admired  her  because  the  man 
or  woman  who  dared  to  meet  that  domestic  tyrant  his 
brother-in-law  in  single  combat,  and  could  issue  un- 
conquered  from  the  doubtful  fray,  was  indeed  worthy 
to  be  honoured.  Colonel  Monk  for  his  part  hastened 
to  do  homage  to  a  very  pretty  and  charming  young  lady, 
one,  morever,  who  was  not  in  the  least  afraid  of  him. 

Mary  had  gone,  and  the  air  from  the  offending 
window,  which  was  so  constructed  as  to  let  in  a  maxi- 
mum of  draught,  banged  the  door  behind  her.  The 
two  men  looked  at  each  other.  A  thought  was  in  the 
mind  of  each ;  but  the  Colonel,  trained  by  long  experi- 
ence, and  wise  in  his  generation,  waited  for  Mr.  Person 
to  speak.  Many  and  many  a  time  in  the  after  days 
did  he  find  reason  to  congratulate  himself  upon  this 
superb  reticence  —  for  there  are  occasions  when  dis- 
cretion can  mount  almost  to  the  height  of  genius. 
Under  their  relative  circumstances,  if  it  had  been  he 
who  first  suggested  this  alliance,  he  and  his  family 
must  have  remained  at  the  gravest  disadvantage,  and 
as  for  stipulations,  well,  he  could  have  made  none. 
But  as  it  chanced  it  was  from  poor  Person's  lips  that 
the  suggestion  came. 


"POOR  PORSON"  35 

Mr.  Person  cleared  his  throat  —  once,  twice,  thrice. 
At  the  third  rasp,  the  Colonel  became  very  attentive. 
He  remembered  that  his  brother-in-law  had  done  exactly 
the  same  thing  at  the  very  apex  of  a  long-departed 
crisis ;  indeed,  just  before  he  offered  spontaneously  to 
take  over  the  mortgages  on  the  Abbey  estate. 

"  You  were  talking,  Colonel,"  he  began,  "  when  Mary 
came  in,"  and  he  paused. 

"  I  daresay,"  replied  the  Colonel  indifferently,  fixing 
a  contemptuous  glance  upon  some  stone  mullions  of 
atrocious  design. 

"  About  Morris  marrying." 

"  Oh,  yes,  so  I  was !     Well  ?  " 

"Well  —  she  seems  to  like  him.  I  know  she  does 
indeed.  She  never  talks  of  any  other  young  man." 

"  She  ?     Who  ?  " 

"  My  daughter,  Mary ;  and  —  so  —  why  shouldn't  they 
—  you  know  ?  " 

"  Really,  John,  I  must  ask  you  to  be  a  little  more 
explicit.  It's  no  good  your  addressing  me  in  your  busi- 
ness ciphers." 

"  Well  —  I  mean  —  why  shouldn't  he  marry  her  ? 
Morris  marry  Mary  !  Is  that  plain  enough  ?  "  he  asked 
in  desperation. 

For  a  moment  a  mist  gathered  before  the  Colonel's 
eyes.  Here  was  salvation  indeed,  if  only  it  could  be 
brought  about.  Oh  !  if  only  it  could  be  brought  about 

But  the  dark  eyes  never  changed,  nor  did  a  muscle 
move  upon  that  pale,  commanding  countenance. 

"  Morris  marry  Mary,"  he  repeated,  dwelling  on  the 
alliterative  words  as  though  to  convince  himself  that 
he  had  heard  them  aright.  "That  is  a  very  strange 


36  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

proposition,  my  dear  John,  and  sudden,  too.  Why, 
they  are  first  cousins,  and  for  that  reason,  I  suppose, 
the  thing  never  occurred  to  me  —  till  last  night,"  he 
added  to  himself. 

"  Yes,  I  know,  Colonel ;  but  I  am  not  certain  that 
this  first  cousin  business  isn't  a  bit  exaggerated.  The 
returns  of  the  asylums  seem  to  show  it,  and  I  know  my 
doctor,  Sir  Henry  Andrews,  says  it's  nonsense.  You'll 
admit  that  he  is  an  authority.  Also,  it  happened  in  my 
own  family,  my  father  and  mother  were  cousins,  and 
we  are  none  the  worse." 

On  another  occasion  the  Colonel  might  have  been 
inclined  to  comment  on  this  statement  —  of  course,  most 
politely.  Now,  however,  he  let  it  pass. 

"Well,  John,"  he  said,  "putting  aside  the  cousinship, 
let  me  hear  what  your  idea  is  of  the  advantages  of  such 
a  union,  should  the  parties  concerned  chance  to  consider 
it  suitable." 

"  Quite  so,  quite  so,  that's  business,"  said  Mr.  Porson, 
brightening  up  at  once.  "  From  my  point  of  view,  these 
would  be  the  advantages.  As  you  know,  Colonel,  so 
far  as  I  am  concerned  my  origin,  for  the  time  I  have 
been  able  to  trace  it  —  that's  four  generations  from  old 
John  Porson,  the  Quaker  sugar  merchant,  who  came 
from  nobody  knows  where  —  although  honest,  is  humble, 
and  until  my  father's  day  all  in  the  line  of  retail  trade. 
But  then  my  dear  wife  came  in.  She  was  a  governess 
when  I  married  her,  as  you  may  have  heard,  and  of  a 
very  good  Scotch  family,  one  of  the  Camerons,  so  Mary 
isn't  all  of  our  cut  —  any  more,"  he  added  with  a  little 
smile,  "than  Morris  is  all  of  yours.  Still  for  her  to 
marry  a  Monk  would  be  a  lift  up  —  a  considerable  lift 


"POOR  PORSON"  37 

up,  and  looked  at  from  a  business  point  of  view,  worth 
a  deal  of  money. 

"  Also,  I  like  my  nephew  Morris,  and  I  am  sure  that 
Mary  likes  him,  and  I'd  wish  the  two  of  them  to  inherit 
what  I  have  got.  They  wouldn't  have  very  long  to  wait 
for  it,  Colonel,  for  those  doctors  may  say  what  they 
will,  but  I  tell  you,"  he  added,  pathetically,  tapping 
himself  over  the  heart  —  "  though  don't  you  mention  it 
to  Mary  —  I  know  better.  Oh !  yes,  I  know  better. 
That's  about  all,  except,  of  course,  that  I  should  wish  to 
see  her  settled  before  I'm  gone.  A  man  dies  happier, 
you  understand,  if  he  is  certain  whom  his  only  child  is 
going  to  marry ;  for  when  he  is  dead  I  suppose  that  he 
will  know  nothing  of  what  happens  to  her.  Or,  per- 
haps," he  added,  as  though  by  an  afterthought,  "  he 
may  know  too  much,  and  not  be  able  to  help;  which 
would  be  painful,  very  painful." 

"  Don't  get  into  those  speculations,  John,"  said  the 
Colonel,  waving  his  hand.  "  They  are  unpleasant,  and 
lead  nowhere  —  sufficient  to  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof." 

"  Quite  so,  quite  so.  Life  is  a  queer  game  of  blind- 
man's  buff,  isn't  it ;  played  in  a  mist  on  a  mountain  top, 
and  the  players  keep  dropping  over  the  precipices. 
But  nobody  heeds,  because  there  are  always  plenty 
more,  and  the  game  goes  on  forever.  Well,  that's  my 
side  of  the  case.  Do  you  wish  me  to  put  yours  ? " 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  your  view  of  it." 

"  Very  good,  it  is  this.  Here's  a  nice  girl,  no  one  can 
deny  that,  and  a  nice  man,  although  he's  odd  —  you  will 
admit  as  much.  He's  got  name,  and  he  will  have  fame, 
or  I  am  much  mistaken.  But,  as  it  chances,  through  no 
fault  of  his,  he  wants  money,  or  will  want  it,  for  without 


38  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

money  the  old  place  can't  go  on,  and  without  a  wife  the 
old  race  can't  go  on.  Now,  Mary  will  have  lots  of  money, 
for,  to  tell  the  truth,  it  keeps  piling  up  until  I  am  sick  of 
it.  I've  been  lucky  in  that  way,  Colonel,  because  I 
don't  much  care  about  it,  I  suppose.  I  don't  think  that 
I  ever  yet  made  a  really  bad  investment.  Just  look. 
Two  years  ago,  to  oblige  an  old  friend  who  was  in  the 
shop  with  me  when  I  was  young,  I  put  £5,000  into  an 
Australian  mine,  never  thinking  to  see  it  again.  Yes- 
terday I  sold  that  stock  for  ,£50,000." 

"  Fifty  thousand  pounds  ! "  ejaculated  the  Colonel, 
astonished  into  admiration. 

"  Yes,  or  to  be  accurate,  .£49,375  $s.  iod.,  and  —  that's 
where  the  jar  comes  in  —  I  don't  care.  I  never  thought 
of  it  again  since  I  got  the  broker's  note  till  this  minute. 
I  have  been  thinking  all  day  about  my  heart,  which  is 
uneasy,  and  about  what  will  happen  to  Mary  when  I 
am  gone.  What's  the  good  of  this  dirty  money  to  a 
dying  man  ?  I'd  give  it  all  to  have  my  wife  and  the 
boy  I  lost  back  for  a  year  or  two ;  yes,  I  would  go  into  a 
shop  again  and  sell  sugar  like  my  grandfather,  and  live  on 
the  profits  from  the  till  and  the  counter.  There's  Mary 
calling.  We  must  tell  a  fib,  we  must  say  that  we  thought 
she  was  to  come  to  fetch  us  ;  don't  you  forget.  Well, 
there  it  is,  perhaps  you'll  think  it  over  at  your  leisure." 

"Yes,  John,"  replied  the  Colonel,  solemnly;  "cer- 
tainly I  will  think  it  over.  Of  course,  there  are  pros 
and  cons,  but,  on  the  whole,  speaking  offhand,  I  don't 
see  why  the  young  people  should  not  make  a  match. 
Also  you  have  always  been  a  good  relative,  and,  what  is 
better,  a  good  friend  to  me,  so,  of  course,  if  possible  I 
should  like  to  fall  in  with  your  wishes." 


"POOR  PORSON"  39 

Mr.  Person,  who  was  advancing  towards  the  door, 
wheeled  round  quickly. 

"Thank  you,  Colonel,"  he  said,  "  I  appreciate  your  sen- 
timents ;  but  don't  you  make  any  mistake.  It  isn't  my 
wishes  that  have  to  be  fallen  in  with  —  or  your  wishes. 
It's  the  wishes  of  your  son,  Morris,  and  my  daughter, 
Mary.  If  they  are  agreeable  I'd  like  it  well;  if  not, 
all  the  money  in  the  world,  nor  all  the  families  in  the 
world,  wouldn't  make  me  have  anything  to  do  with  the 
job,  or  you  either.  Whatever  our  failings,  we  are  hon- 
est men  —  both  of  us,  who  would  not  sell  our  flesh  and 
blood  for  such  trash  as  that." 


CHAPTER  IV 

MARY  PREACHES  AND  THE  COLONEL  PREVAILS 

A  FORTNIGHT  had  gone  by,  and  during  this  time 
Morris  was  a  frequent  visitor  at  Seaview.  Also  his 
Cousin  Mary  had  come  over  twice  or  thrice  to  lunch, 
with  her  father  or  without  him.  Once,  indeed,  she  had 
stopped  all  the  afternoon,  spending  most  of  it  in  the 
workshop  with  Morris.  This  workshop,  it  may  be 
remembered,  was  the  old  chapel  of  the  Abbey,  a  very 
beautiful  and  still  perfect  building,  finished  in  early 
Tudor  times,  in  which,  by  good  fortune,  the  rich  stained 
glass  of  the  east  window  still  remained.  It  made  a 
noble  and  spacious  laboratory,  with  its  wide  nave  and 
lovely  roof  of  chestnut  wood,  whereof  the  corbels  were 
seraphs,  white-robed  and  golden-winged. 

"  Are  you  not  afraid  to  desecrate  such  a  place  with 
your  horrid  vices  —  I  mean  the  iron  things  —  and  fur- 
nace and  litter  ? "  asked  Mary.  She  had  sunk  down 
upon  an  anvil,  on  which  lay  a  newspaper,  the  first  seat 
that  she  could  find,  and  thence  surveyed  the  strange, 
incongruous  scene. 

"  Well,  if  you  ask,  I  don't  like  it,"  answered  Morris. 
"  But  there  is  no  other  place  that  I  can  have,  for  my 
father  is  afraid  of  the  forge  in  the  house,  and  I  can't 
afford  to  build  a  workshop  outside." 

"  It  ought  to  be  restored,"  said  Mary,  "with  a  beauti- 
ful organ  in  a  carved  case  and  a  lovely  alabaster  altar 

40 


MARY  PREACHES  AND  THE  COLONEL  PREVAILS     41 

and  one  of  those  perpetual  lamps  of  silver  —  the  French 
call  them  '  veilleuses,'  don't  they  ?  —  and  the  Stations  of 
the  Cross  in  carved  oak,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  " 

Mary,  it  may  be  explained,  had  a  tendency  to  admire 
the  outward  adornments  of  ritualism  if  not  its  doctrines. 

"Quite  so,"  answered  Morris,  smiling.  "When  I 
have  from  five  to  seven  thousand  to  spare  I  will  set 
about  the  job,  and  hire  a  high-church  chaplain  with  a 
fine  voice  to  come  and  say  Mass  for  your  benefit.  By 
the  way,  would  you  like  a  confessional  also  ?  You 
omitted  it  from  the  list." 

"  I  think  not.  Besides,  what  on  earth  should  I  confess, 
except  being  always  late  for  prayers  through  oversleep- 
ing myself  in  the  morning,  and  general  uselessness  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  daresay  you  might  find  something  if  you 
tried,"  suggested  Morris. 

"  Speak  for  yourself,  please,  Morris.  To  begin  with 
your  own  account,  there  is  the  crime  of  sacrilege  in 
using  a  chapel  as  a  workshop.  Look,  those  are  all 
tombstones  of  abbots  and  other  holy  people,  and  under 
each  tombstone  one  of  them  is  asleep.  Yet  there  you 
are,  using  strong  language  and  whistling  and  making  a 
horrible  noise  with  hammers  just  above  their  heads.  I 
wonder  they  don't  haunt  you  ;  I  would  if  I  were  they." 

"Perhaps  they  do,"  said  Morris,  "only  I  don't  see 
them." 

"  Then  they  can't  be  there." 

"  Why  not  ?  Because  things  are  invisible  and  intangi- 
ble it  does  not  follow  that  they  don't  exist,  as  I  ought 
to  know  as  much  as  anyone." 

"  Of  course ;  but  I  am  sure  that  if  there  were  anything 
of  that  sort  about  you  would  soon  be  in  touch  with  it. 


42  STELLA  FREGEL1US 

With  me  it  is  different;  I  could  sleep  sweetly  with 
ghosts  sitting  on  my  bed  in  rows." 

"Why  do  you  say  that  —  about  me,  I  mean?  "  asked 
Morris,  in  a  more  earnest  voice. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Go  and  look  at  your  own  eyes 
in  the  glass  —  but  I  daresay  you  do  that  often  enough. 
Look  here,  Morris,  you  think  me  very  silly  —  almost 
foolish  —  don't  you  ?  " 

"  I  never  thought  anything  of  the  sort.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  if  you  want  to  know,  I  think  you  a  young  woman 
rather  more  idle  than  most,  and  with  a  perfect  passion 
for  burying  your  talent  in  very  white  napkins." 

"Well,  it  all  comes  to  the  same  thing,  for  there 
isn't  much  difference  between  fool-born  and  fool-manu- 
factured. Sometimes  I  wake  up,  however,  and  have 
moments  of  wisdom  —  as  when  I  made  you  hear  that 
thing,  you  know,  thereby  proving  that  it  is  all  right, 
only  useless  —  haven't  I  ?  " 

"  I  daresay ;  but  come  to  the  point." 

"  Don't  be  in  a  hurry.  It  is  rather  hard  to  express 
myself.  What  I  mean  is  that  you  had  better  give  up 
staring." 

"  Staring  ?  I  never  stared  at  you  or  anyone  else,  in 
my  life ! " 

"  Stupid  Morris  !  By  staring  I  mean  star-gazing,  and 
by  star-gazing  I  mean  trying  to  get  away  from  the  earth 
—  in  your  mind,  you  know." 

Morris  ran  his  fingers  through  his  untidy  hair  and 
opened  his  lips  to  answer. 

"  Don't  contradict  me,"  she  interrupted  in  a  full  steady 
voice.  "  That's  what  you  are  thinking  of  half  the  day, 
and  dreaming  about  all  the  night." 


MARY  PREACHES  AND  THE  COLONEL  PREVAILS     43 

"  What's  that  ? "  he  ejaculated. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered,  with  a  sudden  access 
of  indifference.  "  Do  you  know  yourself  ?  " 

"  I  am  waiting  for  instruction,"  said  Morris,  sarcasti- 
cally. 

"  All  right,  then  I'll  try.  I  mean  that  you  are  not 
satisfied  with  this  world  and  those  of  us  who  live  here. 
You  keep  trying  to  fashion  another — oh !  yes,  you  have 
been  at  it  from  a  boy,  you  see  I  have  got  a  good  mem- 
ory, I  remember  all  your  '  vision  stories  '  —  and  then  you 
try  to  imagine  its  inhabitants." 

"  Well,"  said  Morris,  with  the  sullen  air  of  a  convicted 
criminal,  "  without  admitting  one  word  of  this  nonsense, 
what  if  I  do  ?  " 

"  Only  that  you  had  better  look  out  that  you  don't  find 
whatever  it  is  you  seek.  It's  a  horrible  mistake  to  be  so 
spiritual,  at  least  in  that  kind  of  way.  You  should  eat 
and  drink,  and  sleep  ten  hours  as  I  do,  and  not  go  crav- 
ing for  vision  till  you  can  see,  and  praying  for  power 
until  you  can  create." 

"See!     Create!      Who?     What?" 

"  The  inhabitant,  or  inhabitants.  Just  think,  you  may 
have  been  building  her  up  all  this  time,  imagination  by 
imagination  and  thought  by  thought.  Then  her  day 
might  come,  and  all  that  you  have  put  out  piecemeal  will 
return  at  once.  Yes,  she  may  appear,  and  take  you, 
and  possess  you,  and  lead  you " 

"  She  ?     Why  she  ?  and  where  ?  " 

"  To  the  devil,  I  imagine,"  answered  Mary  composedly, 
"  and  as  you  are  a  man  one  can  guess  the  guide's  sex.  It's 
getting  dark,  let  us  go  out.  This  is  such  a  creepy  place 
in  the  dark  that  it  actually  makes  me  understand  what 


44  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

people  mean  by  nerves.  And,  Morris,  of  course  you 
understand  that  I  have  only  been  talking  rubbish.  I 
always  liked  inventing  fairy  tales ;  you  taught  me ; 
only  this  one  is  too  grown  up  —  disagreeable.  What 
I  really  mean  is  that  I  do  think  it  might  be  a  good  thing 
if  you  wouldn't  live  quite  so  much  alone,  and  would  go 
out  a  bit  more.  You  are  getting  quite  an  odd  look  on 
your  face;  you  are  indeed,  not  like  other  men  at  all. 
I  believe  that  it  comes  from  your  worrying  about  this 
wretched  invention  until  you  are  half  crazy  over  the 
thing.  Any  change  there  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head.  "  No,  I  can't  find  the  right  alloy 
—  not  one  that  can  be  relied  upon.  I  begin  to  doubt 
whether  it  exists." 

"  Why  don't  you  give  it  up  —  for  a  while  at  any  rate  ? " 

"  I  have.  I  made  a  novel  kind  of  electrical  hand-saw 
this  spring,  and  sold  the  patent  for  ;£ioo  and  a  royalty. 
There's  commercial  success  for  you,  and  now  I  am  at 
work  on  a  new  lamp  of  which  I  have  the  idea." 

"  I  am  uncommonly  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Mary  with 
energy.  "And,  I  say,  Morris,  you  are  not  offended 
at  my  silly  parables,  are  you  ?  You  know  what  I 
mean." 

"  Not  a  bit.  I  think  it  is  very  kind  of  you  to  worry 
your  head  about  an  impossible  fellow  like  me.  And 
look  here,  Mary,  I  have  done  some  dreaming  in  my 
time,  it  is  true,  for  so  far  the  world  has  been  a  place  of 
tribulation  to  me,  and  it  is  sick  hearts  that  dream.  But 
I  mean  to  give  it  up,  for  I  know  as  well  as  you  do  that 
there  is  only  one  end  to  all  these  systems  of  mysticism." 
Mary  looked  up. 

"  I  mean,"  he  went  on,  correcting  himself,  "  to  the  mad 


MARY  PREACHES  AND  THE  COLONEL  PREVAILS     45 

attempt  unduly  and  prematurely  to  cultivate  our  spiritual 
natures  that  we  may  live  to  and  for  them,  and  not  to  and 
for  our  natural  bodies." 

"  Exactly  my  argument,  put  into  long  words,"  said 
Mary.  "There  will  be  plenty  of  time  for  that  when 
we  get  down  among  those  old  gentlemen  yonder  —  a 
year  or  two  hence,  you  know.  Meanwhile,  let  us  take 
the  world  as  we  find  it.  It  isn't  a  bad  place,  after  all, 
at  times,  and  there  are  several  things  worth  doing  for 
those  who  are  not  too  lazy. 

"Good-bye,  I  must  be  off;  my  bicycle  is  there 
against  the  railings.  Oh,  how  I  hate  that  machine! 
Now,  listen,  Morris ;  do  you  want  to  do  something 
really  useful,  and  earn  the  blessings  of  an  affectionate 
relative  ?  Then  invent  a  really  reliable  electrical  bike, 
that  would  look  nice  and  do  all  the  work,  so  that  I  could 
sit  on  it  comfortably  and  get  to  a  place  without  my  legs 
aching  as  though  I  had  broken  them,  and  a  red  face, 
and  no  breath  left  in  my  body." 

"I  will  think  about  it,"  he  said;  "indeed,  I  have 
thought  of  it  already  but  the  accumulators  are  the 
trouble." 

"  Then  go  on  thinking,  there's  an  angel ;  think  hard 
and  continually  until  you  evolve  that  blessed  instrument 
of  progression.  I  say,  I  haven't  a  lamp." 

"  I'll  lend  you  mine,"  suggested  Morris. 

"No;  other  people's  lamps  always  go  out  with  me, 
and  so  do  my  own,  for  that  matter.  I'll  risk  it;  I  know 
the  policeman,  and  if  we  meet  I  will  argue  with  him. 
Good-bye;  don't  forget  we  are  coming  to  dinner  to- 
morrow night.  It's  a  party,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  I  believe  so." 


46  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

"What  a  bore,  I  must  unpack  my  London  dresses. 
Well,  good-bye  again." 

"  Good-bye,  dear,"  answered  Morris,  and  she  was  gone. 

" '  Dear,'  "  thought  Mary  to  herself ;  "  he  hasn't  called 
me  that  since  I  was  sixteen.  I  wonder  why  he  does 
it  now  ?  Because  I  have  been  scolding  him,  I  suppose ; 
that  generally  makes  men  affectionate." 

For  a  while  she  glided  forward  through  the  grey 
twilight,  and  then  began  to  think  again,  muttering  to 
herself : 

"You  idiot,  Mary,  why  should  you  be  pleased  be- 
cause he  called  you  '  dear '  ?  He  doesn't  really  care  two- 
pence about  you ;  his  blood  goes  no  quicker  when  you 
pass  by  and  no  slower  when  you  stay  away.  Why  do 
you  bother  about  him?  and  what  made  you  talk  all  that 
stuff  this  afternoon?  Because  you  think  he  is  in  a 
queer  way,  and  that  if  he  goes  on  giving  himself  up 
to  his  fancies  he  will  become  mad  —  yes,  mad  —  because 

Oh  !  what's  the  use  of  making  excuses  —  because 

you  are  fond  of  him,  and  have  always  been  fond  of  him 
from  a  child,  and  can't  help  it.  What  a  fate !  To  be 
fond  of  a  man  who  hasn't  the  heart  to  care  for  you  or 
for  any  other  woman.  Perhaps,  however,  that's  only 
because  he  hasn't  found  the  right  one,  as  he  might  do 
at  any  time,  and  then " 

"Where  are  you  going  to,  and  where's  your  light?" 
shouted  a  hoarse  voice  from  the  pathway  on  which  she 
was  unlawfully  riding. 

"My  good  man,  I  wish  I  knew,"  answered  Mary, 
blandly. 

Morris,  for  whom  the  day  never  seemed  long  enough, 


MARY  PREACHES  AND  THE  COLONEL  PREVAILS     47 

was  a  person  who  breakfasted  punctually  at  half-past 
eight,  whereas  Colonel  Monk,  to  whom  —  at  any  rate 
at  Monksland  —  the  day  was  often  too  long,  generally 
breakfasted  at  ten.  To  his  astonishment,  however,  on 
entering  the  dining-room  upon  the  morrow  of  his  inter- 
view in  the  workshop  with  Mary,  he  found  his  father 
seated  at  the  head  of  the  table. 

"  This  means  a  '  few  words '  with  me  about  something 
disagreeable,"  thought  Morris  to  himself  as  he  dabbed 
viciously  at  an  evasive  sausage.  He  was  not  fond  of 
these  domestic  conversations.  Nor  was  he  in  the  least 
reassured  by  his  father's  airy  and  informed  comments 
upon  the  contents  of  the  "  Globe,"  which  always  arrived 
by  post,  and  the  marvel  of  its  daily  "turnover"  article, 
whereof  the  perpetual  variety  throughout  the  decades 
constituted,  the  Colonel  was  wont  to  say,  the  eighth 
wonder  of  the  world.  Instinct,  instructed  by  experience, 
assured  him  that  these  were  but  the  first  moves  in  the 
game. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  meal  he  attempted  retreat, 
pretending  that  he  wanted  to  fetch  something,  but  the 
Colonel,  who  was  watching  him  over  the  top  of  the 
pink  page  of  the  "  Globe."  intervened  promptly. 

"  If  you  have  a  few  minutes  to  spare,  my  dear  boy, 
I  should  like  to  have  a  chat  with  you,"  he  said. 

"  Certainly,  father,"  answered  the  dutiful  Morris ;  "  I 
am  at  your  service." 

"  Very  good ;  then  I  will  light  my  cigar,  and  we  might 
take  a  stroll  on  the  beach,  that  is,  after  I  have  seen  the 
cook  about  the  dinner  to-night.  Perhaps  I  shall  find 
you  presently  by  the  steps." 

"  I  will  wait  for  you  there,"  answered  Morris.     And 


48  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

wait  he  did,  for  a  considerable  while,  for  the  interview 
with  the  cook  proved  lengthy.  Moreover,  the  Colonel 
was  not  a  punctual  person,  or  one  who  set  an  undue 
value  upon  his  own  or  other  people's  time.  At  length, 
just  as  Morris  was  growing  weary  of  the  pristine  but 
enticing  occupation  of  making  ducks  and  drakes  with 
flat  pebbles,  his  father  appeared.  After  "  salutations," 
as  they  say  in  the  East,  he  wasted  ten  more  minutes  in 
abusing  the  cook,  ending  up  with  a  direct  appeal  for  his 
son's  estimate  of  her  capacities. 

"  She  might  be  better  and  she  might  be  worse," 
answered  Morris,  judicially. 

"  Quite  so,"  replied  the  Colonel,  drily ;  "  the  remark  is 
sound  and  applies  to  most  things.  At  present,  however, 
I  think  that  she  is  worse ;  also  I  hate  the  sight  of  her  fat 
red  face.  But  bother  the  cook,  why  do  you  think  so 
much  about  her ;  I  have  something  else  to  say." 

"  I  don't  think,"  said  Morris.  "  She  doesn't  excite  me 
one  way  or  the  other,  except  when  she  is  late  with  my 
breakfast." 

Then,  as  he  expected,  after  the  cook  came  the 
crisis. 

"  You  will  remember,  my  dear  boy,"  began  the  Colonel, 
affectionately,  "  a  little  talk  we  had  a  while  ago." 

"  Which  one,  father  ? " 

"The  last  of  any  importance,  I  believe.  I  refer  to 
the  occasion  when  you  stopped  out  all  night  contem- 
plating the  sea;  an  incident  which  impressed  it  upon 
my  memory." 

Morris  looked  at  him.  Why  was  the  old  gentleman 
so  inconveniently  observant  ? 

"  And  doubtless  you  remember  the  subject  ? " 


MARY  PREACHES  AND  THE  COLONEL  PREVAILS     49 

"There  were  a  good  many  subjects,  father;  they 
ranged  from  mortgages  to  matrimony." 

"  Quite  so,  to  matrimony.  Well,  have  you  thought 
any  more  about  it  ?  " 

"  Not  particularly,  father.     Why  should  I  ?  " 

"  Confound  it,  Morris,"  exclaimed  the  Colonel,  losing 
patience ;  "  don't  chop  logic  like  a  petty  sessions  lawyer. 
Let's  come  to  the  point." 

"  That  is  my  desire,"  answered  Morris ;  and  quite 
clearly  there  rose  up  before  him  an  inconsequent  picture 
of  his  mother  teaching  him  the  Catechism  many,  many 
years  ago.  Thereat,  as  was  customary  with  his  mind 
when  any  memory  of  her  touched  it,  his  temper  softened 
like  iron  beneath  the  influence  of  fire. 

"Very  good,  then  what  do  you  think  of  Mary  as  a 
wife  ? " 

"  How  should  I  know  under  the  circumstances  ? " 

The  Colonel  fumed,  and  Morris  added,  "  I  beg  your 
pardon,  I  understand  what  you  mean." 

Then  his  father  came  to  the  charge. 

"  To  be  brief,  will  you  marry  her  ?  " 

"  Will  she  marry  me  ?  "  asked  Morris.  "  Isn't  she  too 
sensible  ? " 

His  father's  eye  twinkled,  but  he  restrained  himself. 
This,  he  felt,  was  not  an  occasion  upon  which  to  indulge 
his  powers  of  sarcasm. 

"  Upon  my  word,  if  you  want  my  opinion,  I  believe 
she  will ;  but  you  have  to  ask  her  first.  Look  here,  my 
boy,  be  advised  by  me,  and  do  it  as  soon  as  possible. 
The  notion  is  rather  new  to  me,  I  admit ;  but,  taking  her 
all  round,  where  would  you  find  a  better  woman  ?  You 
and  I  don't  always  agree  about  things;  we  are  of  a 


50  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

different  generation,  and  look  at  the  world  from  different 
standpoints.  But  I  think  that  at  the  bottom  we  respect 
each  other,  and  I  am  sure,"  he  added  with  a  touch  of 
restrained  dignity,  "that  we  are  naturally  and  properly 
attached  to  each  other.  Under  these  circumstances,  and 
taking  everything  else  into  consideration,  I  am  convinced 
also  that  you  will  give  weight  to  my  advice.  I  assure 
you  that  I  do  not  offer  it  lightly.  It  is  that  you  should 
marry  your  cousin  Mary." 

"There  is  her  side  of  the  case  to  be  considered," 
suggested  Morris. 

"  Doubtless,  and  she  is  a  very  shrewd  and  sensible 
young  woman  under  all  her  '  dolce  far  niente '  air,  who 
is  quite  capable  of  consideration." 

"  I  am  not  worthy  of  her,"  his  son  broke  in  passion- 
ately. 

"  That  is  for  her  to  decide.  I  ask  you  to  give  her  an 
opportunity  of  expressing  an  opinion." 

Morris  looked  at  the  sea  and  sky,  then  he  looked  at 
his  father  standing  before  him  in  an  attitude  that  was 
now  almost  suppliant,  with  head  bowed,  hands  clasped, 
and  on  his  clear-cut  face  an  air  of  real  sincerity.  What 
right  had  he  to  resist  this  appeal  ?  He  was  heart-whole, 
without  any  kind  of  complication,  and  for  his  cousin 
Mary  he  had  true  affection  and  respect.  Moreover, 
they  had  been  brought  up  together.  She  understood 
him,  and  in  the  midst  of  so  much  that  was  uncertain 
and  bewildering  she  seemed  something  genuine  and 
solid,  something  to  which  a  man  could  cling.  It  may 
not  have  been  a  right  spirit  in  which  to  approach  this 
question  of  marriage,  but  in  the  case  of  a  man  like 
Morris,  who  was  driven  forward  by  no  passion,  by  no 


MARY  PREACHES  AND  THE  COLONEL  PREVAILS     5 1 

scheme  even  of  personal  advancement,  this  substitution 
of  reason  for  impulse  and  instinct  was  perhaps  natural. 

"  Very  well,  I  will,"  he  answered ;  "  but  if  she  is  wise, 
she  won't." 

His  father  turned  his  head  away  and  sighed  softly, 
and  that  sigh  seemed  to  lift  a  ton's  weight  off  his  heart. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  he  answered  simply,  "the  rest 
must  settle  itself.  By  the  way,  if  you  are  going  up  to 
the  house,  tell  the  cook  that  I  have  changed  my  mind, 
we  will  have  the  soles  fried  with  lemon ;  she  always 
makes  a  mess  of  them  'au  maitre  d'hotel.' " 


CHAPTER  V 
A  PROPOSAL  AND  A  PROMISE 

ALTHOUGH  it  consisted  of  but  a  dozen  people,  the 
dinner-party  at  the  Abbey  that  night  was  something  of 
a  function.  To  begin  with,  the  old  refectory,  with  its 
stone  columns  and  arches  still  standing  as  they  were  in 
the  pre-Reformation  days,  lit  with  cunningly-arranged 
and  shaded  electric  lights  designed  and  set  up  by 
Morris,  was  an  absolutely  ideal  place  in  which  to  dine. 
Then,  although  the  Monk  family  were  impoverished, 
they  still  retained  the  store  of  plate  accumulated  by 
past  generations.  Much  of  this  silver  was  old  and 
very  beautiful,  and  when  set  out  upon  the  great  side- 
boards produced  an  effect  well  suited  to  that  chamber 
and  its  accessories.  The  company  also  was  pleasant 
and  presentable.  There  were  the  local  baronet  and  his 
wife ;  the  two  beauties  of  the  neighbourhood,  Miss  Jane 
Rose  and  Miss  Eliza  Layard,  with  their  respective 
belongings ;  the  clergyman  of  the  parish,  a  Mr.  Tomley, 
who  was  leaving  the  county  for  the  north  of  England  on 
account  of  his  wife's  health;  and  a  clever  and  rising 
young  doctor  from  the  county  town.  These,  with  Mr. 
Person  and  his  daughter,  made  up  the  number  who  upon 
this  particular  night  with  every  intention  of  enjoying 
themselves,  sat  down  to  that  rather  rare  entertainment 
in  Monksland,  a  dinner-party. 

52 


A  PROPOSAL  AND  A  PROMISE  53 

Colonel  Monk  had  himself  very  carefully  placed  the 
guests.  As  a  result,  Morris,  to  whose  lot  it  had  fallen 
to  take  in  the  wealthy  Miss  Layard,  a  young  lady 
of  handsome  but  somewhat  ill-tempered  countenance, 
found  himself  at  the  foot  of  the  oblong  table  with  his 
partner  on  one  side  and  his  cousin  on  the  other.  Mary, 
who  was  conducted  to  her  seat  by  Mr.  Layard,  the  deli- 
cate brother,  an  insignificant,  pallid-looking  specimen  of 
humanity,  for  reasons  of  her  own,  not  unconnected  per- 
haps with  the  expected  presence  of  the  Misses  Layard 
and  Rose,  had  determined  to  look  and  dress  her  best 
that  night.  She  wore  a  robe  of  some  rich  white  silk, 
tight  fitting  and  cut  rather  low,  and  upon  her  neck 
a  single  row  of  magnificent  diamonds.  The  general 
effect  of  her  sheeny  dress,  snow-like  skin,  and  golden, 
waving  hair,  as  she  glided  into  the  shaded  room,  sug- 
gested to  Morris's  mind  a  great  white  lily  floating  down 
the  quiet  water  of  some  dark  stream,  and,  when  presently 
the  light  fell  on  her,  a  vision  of  a  silver,  mist-shaded  star 
lying  low  upon  the  ocean  at  the  break  of  dawn.  Later, 
after  she  became  acquainted  with  these  poetical  imagin- 
ings, Mary  congratulated  herself  and  her  maid  very 
warmly  on  the  fact  that  she  had  actually  summoned 
sufficient  energy  to  telegraph  to  town  for  this  particular 
dress. 

Of  the  other  ladies  present,  Miss  Layard  was  arrayed 
in  a  hot-looking  red  garment,  which  she  imagined  would 
suit  her  dark  eyes  and  complexion.  Miss  Rose,  on  the 
contrary,  had  come  out  in  the  virginal  style  of  muslin 
and  blue  bows,  whereof  the  effect,  unhappily,  was  some- 
what marred  by  a  fiery  complexion,  acquired  as  the  re- 
sult of  three  days'  violent  play  at  a  tennis  tournament. 


54  STELLA   FREGELIUS 

To  this  unfortunate  circumstance  Miss  Layard,  who  had 
her  own  views  of  Miss  Rose,  was  not  slow  in  calling 
attention. 

"  What  has  happened  to  poor  Jane?  "  she  said,  address- 
ing Mary.  "  She  looks  as  though  she  had  been  red- 
ochred  down  to  her  shoulders." 

"Who  is  poor  Jane?"  asked  that  young  lady  languidly. 
"  Oh  !  you  mean  Miss  Rose.  I  know,  she  has  been  play- 
ing in  that  tennis  tournament  at  —  what's  the  name  of 
the  place  ?  Dad  would  drive  me  there  this  afternoon, 
and  it  made  me  quite  hot  to  look  at  her,  jumping  and 
running  and  hitting  for  hour  after  hour.  But  she's 
awfully  good  at  it ;  she  won  the  prize.  Don't  you  envy 
anybody  who  can  win  a  prize  at  a  tennis  tournament, 
Miss  Layard  ? " 

"  No,"  she  answered  sharply,  for  Miss  Layard  did  not 
shine  at  tennis.  "  I  dislike  women  who  go  about  what 
my  brother  calls  '  pot-hunting '  just  as  if  they  were 
professionals." 

"  Oh,  do  you  ?  I  admire  them.  It  must  be  so  nice  to 
be  able  to  do  anything  well,  even  if  it's  only  lawn 
tennis.  It's  the  poor  failures  like  myself  for  whom 
I  am  so  sorry." 

"I  don't  admire  anybody  who  can  come  out  to  a 
dinner  party  with  a  head  and  neck  like  that,"  retorted 
Eliza. 

"  Why  not  ?  You  can't  burn,  and  that  should  make 
you  more  charitable.  And  I  tie  myself  up  in  veils  and 
umbrellas,  which  is  absurd.  Besides,  what  does  it 
matter  ?  You  see,  it  is  different  with  most  of  us ;  Miss 
Rose  is  so  good-looking  that  she  can  afford  herself 
these  little  luxuries." 


A   PROPOSAL  AND  A   PROMISE  55 

"  That  is  a  matter  of  opinion,"  replied  Miss  Layard. 

"  Oh  !  I  don't  think  so ;  at  least,  the  opinion  is  all  one 
way.  Don't  you  think  Miss  Rose  beautiful,  Mr.  Lay- 
ard ? "  she  said,  turning  to  her  companion. 

"  Ripping,"  said  that  gentleman,  with  emphasis.  "  But 
I  wish  she  wouldn't  beat  one  at  tennis ;  it  is  an  insult  to 
the  stronger  sex." 

Mary  looked  at  him  reflectively.  His  sister  looked 
at  him  also. 

"And  I  am  sure  you  think  her  beautiful,  don't  you, 
Morris  ? "  went  on  the  imperturbable  Mary. 

"  Certainly,  of  course ;  lovely,"  he  replied,  with  a 
vacuous  stare  at  the  elderly  wife  of  the  baronet. 

"There,  Miss  Layard,  now  you  collect  the  opinions 
of  the  gentlemen  all  along  your  side."  And  Mary 
turned  away,  ostensibly  to  talk  to  her  cavalier;  but 
really  to  find  out  what  could  possibly  interest  Morris  so 
deeply  in  the  person  or  conversation  of  Lady  Jones. 

Lady  Jones  was  talking  across  the  table  to  Mr.  Tom- 
ley,  the  departing  rector,  a  benevolent-looking  person, 
with  a  broad  forehead  adorned  like  that  of  Father  Time 
by  a  single  lock  of  snowy  hair. 

"And  so  you  are  really  going  to  the  far  coast  of 
Northumberland,  Mr.  Tomley,  to  exchange  livings  with 
the  gentleman  with  the  odd  name  ?  How  brave  of  you  !  " 

Mr.  Tomley  smiled  assent,  adding:  "You  can  imagine 
what  a  blow  it  is  to  me,  Lady  Jones,  to  separate  myself 
from  my  dear  parishioners  and  friends "  —  here  he 
eyed  the  Colonel,  with  whom  he  had  waged  a  continual 
war  during  his  five  years  of  residence  in  the  parish, 
and  added :  "But  we  must  all  give  way  to  the  cause  of 
duty  and  the  necessities  of  health.  Mrs.  Tomley  says 


56  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

that  this  part  of  the  country  does  not  agree  with  her, 
and  is  quite  convinced  that  unless  she  is  taken  back 
to  her  native  Northumberland  air  the  worst  may  be 
expected." 

"  I  fancy  that  it  has  arrived  in  that  poor  man's  case," 
thought  Mary  to  herself.  Lady  Jones,  who  also  knew 
Mrs.  Tomley  and  the  power  of  her  tongue,  nodded  her 
head  sympathetically  and  said : 

"  Of  course,  of  course.  A  wife's  health  must  be  the 
first  consideration  of  every  good  man.  But  isn't  it 
rather  lonely  up  there,  Mr.  Tomley  ? " 

"  Lonely,  Lady  Jones  ? "  the  clergyman  replied  with 
energy,  and  shaking  his  white  lock.  "  I  assure  you  that 
the  place  is  a  howling  desert ;  a  great  moor  behind,  and 
the  great  sea  in  front,  and  some  rocks  and  the  church 
between  the  two.  That's  about  all,  but  my  wife  likes  it 
because  she  used  to  stay  at  the  rectory  when  she  was  a 
little  girl.  Her  uncle  was  the  incumbent  there.  She 
declares  that  she  has  never  been  well  since  she  left  the 
parish." 

"  And  what  did  you  say  is  the  name  of  the  present 
inhabitant  of  this  earthly  paradise,  the  man  with  whom 
you  have  exchanged  ? "  interrupted  the  Colonel. 

"  Fregelius  —  the  Reverend  Peter  Fregelius." 

"  What  an  exceedingly  odd  name  !  Is  he  an  English- 
man ? " 

"  Yes ;  but  I  think  that  his  father  was  a  Dane,  and  he 
married  a  Danish  lady." 

"  Indeed !     Is  she  living  ? " 

"  Oh,  no.  She  died  a  great  many  years  ago.  The  old 
gentleman  has  only  one  child  left  —  a  girl." 

"  What  is  her  name  ? "  asked  someone  idly,  in  a  break 


A  PROPOSAL  AND  A  PROMISE  57 

of  the  general  conversation,  so  that  everybody  paused 
to  listen  to  his  reply. 

"  Stella  —  Stella  Fregelius ;  a  very  unusual  girl." 

Then  the  conversation  broke  out  again  with  renewed 
vigour,  and  all  that  those  at  Morris's  end  of  the  table 
could  catch  were  snatches  such  as :  "  Wonderful  eyes  " ; 
"  Independent  young  person  "  ;  "  Well  read  and  musi- 
cal"; "Oh,  yes!  poor  as  church  mice,  that's  why  he 
accepted  my  offer." 

At  this  point  the  Doctor  began  a  rather  vehement 
argument  with  Mr.  Person  as  to  the  advisability  of 
countervailing  duties  to  force  foreign  nations  to  aban- 
don the  sugar  bounties,  and  no  more  was  heard  of  Mr. 
Tomley  and  his  plans. 

On  the  whole,  Mary  enjoyed  that  dinner-party.  Miss 
Layard,  somewhat  sore  after  her  first  encounter,  at- 
tempted to  retaliate  later. 

But  by  this  time  Mary's  argumentative  energy  had 
evaporated.  Therefore,  adroitly  appealing  to  Mr.  Lay- 
ard to  take  her  part,  she  retired  from  the  fray  till,  seeing 
that  it  grew  acrimonious,  for  this  brother  and  sister  did 
not  love  each  other,  she  pretended  to  hear  no  more. 

"Have  you  been  stopping  out  all  night  again  and 
staring  at  the  sea,  Morris?"  she  inquired;  "because  I 
understand  it  is  a  habit  of  yours.  You  seem  so  sleepy. 
I  know  that  I  must  have  looked  just  like  you  when  that 
old  political  gentleman  took  me  in  to  dinner,  and  I  made 
an  exhibition  of  myself." 

"  What  was  that  ? "  asked  Morris. 

So  she  told  him  the  story  of  her  unlawful  slumbers, 
and  so  amusingly  that  he  burst  out  laughing  and 
remained  in  an  excellent  mood  for  the  rest  of  the  feast, 


58  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

or  at  any  rate  until  the  ladies  had  departed.  After  this 
event  once  more  he  became  somewhat  silent  and  distrait. 

It  was  not  wonderful.  To  most  men,  except  the  very 
experienced,  proposals  are  terrifying  ordeals,  and  Morris 
had  made  up  his  mind,  if  he  could  find  a  chance,  to  pro- 
pose to  Mary  that  night.  The  thing  was  to  be  done, 
so  the  sooner  he  did  it  the  better. 

Then  it  would  be  over,  one  way  or  the  other.  Besides, 
and  this  was  strange  and  opportune  enough,  never  had 
he  felt  so  deeply  and  truly  attracted  to  Mary.  Whether 
it  was  because  her  soft,  indolent  beauty  showed  at  its 
best  this  evening  in  that  gown  and  setting,  or  because 
her  conversation,  with  its  sub-acid  tinge  of  kindly  hu- 
mour amused  him,  or  —  and  this  seemed  more  probable 
—  because  her  whole  attitude  towards  himself  was  so 
gentle  and  so  full  of  sweet  benevolence,  he  could  not 
say.  At  any  rate,  this  remained  true,  she  attracted  him 
more  than  any  woman  he  had  ever  met,  or  whom,  as  he 
thought,  he  was  ever  likely  to  meet,  and  sincerely  he 
hoped  and  prayed  that  when  he  asked  her  to  be  his  wife 
she  might  find  it  in  her  heart  to  answer  Yes. 

The  rest  of  the  entertainment  resembled  that  of  most 
country  dinner-parties.  Conducted  to  the  piano  by  the 
Colonel,  who  understood  music  very  well,  the  talented 
ladies  of  the  party,  including  Miss  Rose,  sang  songs 
with  more  or  less  success,  while  Miss  Layard  criticised, 
Mary  was  appreciative,  and  the  men  talked.  At  length 
the  local  baronet's  wife  looked  at  the  local  baronet,  who 
thereupon  asked  leave  to  order  the  carriage.  This 
example  the  rest  of  the  company  followed  in  quick  suc- 
cession until  all  were  gone  except  Mr.  Porson  and  his 
daughter. 


A   PROPOSAL  AND  A   PROMISE  59 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Person,  "  I  suppose  that 
we  had  better  be  off  too,  or  you  won't  get  your  customary 
nine  hours." 

Mary  yawned  slightly  and  assented,  asserting  that 
she  had  utterly  exhausted  herself  in  defending  Miss 
Rose  from  the  attacks  of  her  rival,  Miss  Layard. 

"No,  no,"  broke  in  the  Colonel,  "come  and  have  a 
smoke  first,  John.  I've  got  that  old  map  of  the  property 
unrolled  on  purpose  to  show  you,  and  I  don't  want  to 
keep  it  about,  for  it  fills  up  the  whole  place.  Morris 
will  look  after  Mary  for  half  an  hour,  I  daresay." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Morris,  but  the  heart  within  him 
sank  to  the  level  of  his  dress-shoes.  Here  was  the 
opportunity  for  which  he  had  wished,  but  as  he  could 
not  be  called  a  forward,  or  even  a  pushing  lover,  he  was 
alarmed  at  its  very  prompt  arrival.  This  answer  to  his 
prayers  was  somewhat  too  swift  and  thorough.  There 
is  a  story  of  an  enormously  fat  old  Boer  who  was  seated 
on  the  veld  with  his  horse  at  his  side,  when  suddenly  a 
band  of  armed  natives  rushed  to  attack  him.  "  Oh,  God, 
help  !  "  he  cried  in  his  native  taal,  as  he  prepared  to 
heave  his  huge  form  into  the  saddle.  Having  thus 
invoked  divine  assistance,  this  Dutch  Falstaff  went  at 
the  task  with  such  a  will  that  in  a  trice  he  found  himself 
not  on  the  horse,  but  over  it,  lying  upon  his  back,  indeed, 
among  the  grasses.  "  O  God !  "  that  deluded  burgher 
exclaimed,  reproachfully,  as  the  Kaffirs  came  up  and 
speared  him,  "Thou  hast  helped  a  great  deal  too 
much  ! " 

At  this  moment  Morris  felt  very  much  like  this  stout 
but  simple  dweller  in  the  wilderness.  He  would  have 
preferred  to  coquet  with  the  enemy  for  a  while  from  the 


60  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

safety  of  his  saddle.  But  Providence  had  willed  it  other- 
wise. 

"Won't  you  come  out,  Mary?"  he  said,  with  the 
courage  which  inspires  men  in  desperate  situations. 
He  felt  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  say  those  words 
with  the  electric  lights  looking  at  him  like  so  many 
eyes.  The  thought  of  it,  even,  made  him  warm  all 
over. 

"  I  don't  know ;  it  depends.  Is  there  anything  com- 
fortable to  sit  on  ? " 

"The  deck  chair,"  he  suggested. 

"That  sounds  nice.  I  have  slumbered  for  hours  in 
deck  chairs.  Look,  there's  a  fur  rug  on  that  sofa,  and 
here's  my  white  cape ;  now  you  get  your  coat,  and  I'll 
come." 

"Thank  you,  no;  I  don't  want  any  coat;  I  am  hot 
enough  already." 

Mary  turned  and  looked  him  up  and  down  with  her 
wondering  blue  eyes. 

"  Do  you  really  think  it  safe,"  she  said,  "  to  expose 
yourself  to  all  sorts  of  unknown  dangers  in  this  unpro- 
tected condition  ?  " 

"  Of  course,"  he  answered.  "  I  am  not  afraid  of  the 
night  air  even  in  October." 

"  Very  well,  very  well,  Morris,"  she  went  on,  and  there 
was  meaning  in  her  voice ;  "  then  whatever  happens 
don't  blame  me.  It's  so  easy  to  be  rash  and  thoughtless 
and  catch  a  chill,  and  then  you  may  become  an  invalid 
for  life,  or  die,  you  know.  One  can't  get  rid  of  it  again 
—  at  least,  not  often." 

Morris  looked  at  her  with  a  puzzled  air,  and  stepped 
through  the  window  which  he  had  opened,  on  to  the 


A  PROPOSAL  AND  A  PROMISE  6 1 

lawn,  whither,  with  a  quaint  little  shrug  of  her  shoulders, 
Mary  followed  him,  muttering  to  herself : 

"  Now  if  he  takes  cold,  it  won't  be  my  fault."  Then 
she  stopped,  clasped  her  hands,  and  said,  "  Oh !  what  a 
lovely  night.  I  am  glad  that  we  came  out  here." 

She  was  right,  it  was  indeed  lovely.  High  in  the 
heavens  floated  a  bright  half-moon,  across  whose  face 
the  little  white-edged  clouds  drifted  in  quick  succession, 
throwing  their  gigantic  shadows  to  the  world  beneath. 
All  silver  was  the  sleeping  sea  where  the  moonlight  fell 
upon  it,  and  when  this  was  eclipsed,  then  it  was  all  jet. 
To  the  right  and  left,  up  to  the  very  borders  of  the  cliff, 
lay  the  soft  wreaths  of  roke  or  land-fog,  covering  the 
earth  as  with  a  cloak  of  down,  but  pierced  here  and 
there  by  the  dim  and  towering  shapes  of  trees.  Yet 
although  these  curling  wreaths  of  mist  hung  on  the 
edges  of  the  cliff  like  white  water  about  to  fall,  they 
never  fell,  since  clear  to  the  sight,  though  separated 
from  them  by  a  gulf  of  translucent  blackness,  lay  the 
yellow  belt  of  sand  up  which,  inch  by  inch,  the  tide  was 
creeping. 

And  the  air  —  no  wind  stirred  it,  though  the  wind  was 
at  work  aloft  —  it  was  still  and  bright  as  crystal,  and 
crisp  and  cold  as  new-iced  wine,  for  the  first  autumn 
frost  was  falling. 

They  stood  for  a  few  moments  looking  at  all  these 
wonderful  beauties  of  the  mysterious  night  —  which 
dwellers  in  the  country  so  rarely  appreciate,  because 
to  them  they  are  common,  daily  things  —  and  listening 
to  the  soft,  long-drawn  murmuring  of  the  sea  upon  the 
shingle.  Then  they  went  forward  to  the  edge  of  the 
cliff,  but  although  Morris  threw  the  fur  rug  over  it 


62  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

Mary  did  not  seat  herself  in  the  comfortable-looking  deck 
chair.  Her  desire  for  repose  had  departed.  She  pre- 
ferred to  lean  upon  the  low  grey  wall  in  whose  crannies 
grew  lichens,  tiny  ferns,  and,  in  their  season,  harebells 
and  wallflowers.  Morris  came  and  leant  at  her  side; 
for  a  while  they  both  stared  at  the  sea. 

"  Pray,  are  you  making  up  poetry  ?  "  she  inquired  at 
last. 

"  Why  do  you  ask  such  silly  questions  ?  "  he  answered, 
not  without  indignation. 

"  Because  you  keep  muttering  to  yourself,  and  I 
thought  that  you  were  trying  to  get  the  lines  to  scan. 
Also  the  sea,  and  the  sky,  and  the  night  suggest  poetry, 
don't  they  ? " 

Morris  turned  his  head  and  looked  at  her. 

"You  suggest  it,"  he  said,  with  desperate  earnestness, 
"in  all  that  shining  white,  especially  when  the  moon 
goes  in.  Then  you  look  like  a  beautiful  spirit  new  lit 
upon  the  edge  of  the  world." 

At  first  Mary  was  pleased,  the  compliment  was  obvi- 
ous, and,  coming  from  Morris,  great.  She  had  never 
heard  him  say  so  much  as  that  before.  Then  she  thought 
an  instant,  and  the  echo  of  the  word  "  spirit "  came  back 
to  her  mind,  and  jarred  upon  it  with  a  little  sudden  shock. 
Even  when  he  had  a  lovely  woman  at  his  side  must  his 
fancy  be  wandering  to  these  unearthly  denizens  and 
similes. 

"Please,  Morris,"  she  said  almost  sharply,  "do  not 
compare  me  to  a  spirit.  I  am  a  woman,  nothing  more, 
and  if  it  is  not  enough  that  I  should  be  a  woman,  then 

"  she  paused,  to  add,  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  know 

you  meant  to  be  nice,  but  once  I  had  a  friend  who  went 


A  PROPOSAL  AND  A  PROMISE  63 

in  for  spirits  —  table-turning  ones  I  mean  —  with  very 
bad  results,  and  I  detest  the  name  of  them." 

Morris  took  this  rebuff  better  than  might  have  been 
expected. 

"Would  you  object  if  one  ventured  to  call  you  an 
angel  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Not  if  the  word  was  used  in  a  terrestrial  sense.  It 
excites  a  vision  of  possibilities,  and  the  fib  is  so  big  that 
anyone  must  pardon  it." 

"  Very  well,  then ;  I  call  you  that." 

"  Thank  you,  I  should  be  delighted  to  return  the  com- 
pliment. Can  you  think  of  any  celestial  definition  ap- 
propriate to  a  youngish  gentleman  with  dark  eyes  ? " 

"Oh!  Mary,  please  stop  making  fun  of  me,"  said 
Morris,  with  something  like  a  groan. 

"  Why  ?  "  she  asked  innocently.  "  Besides  I  wasn't 
making  fun.  It's  only  my  way  of  carrying  on  conver- 
sation ;  they  taught  it  me  at  school,  you  know." 

Morris  made  no  answer ;  in  fact,  he  did  not  know  what 
on  earth  to  say,  or  rather  how  to  find  the  fitting  words. 
After  all,  it  was  an  accident  and  not  his  own  intelligence 
that  freed  him  from  his  difficulty.  Mary  moved  a  little, 
causing  the  white  cloak,  which  was  unfastened,  to  slip 
from  her  shoulders.  Morris  put  out  his  hand  to  catch 
it,  and  met  her  hand.  In  another  instant  he  had  thrown 
his  arm  round  her,  drawn  her  to  him,  and  kissed  her  on 
the  lips.  Then,  abashed  at  what  he  had  done,  he  let 
her  go  and  picked  up  the  cloak. 

"  Might  I  ask  ?  "  began  Mary  in  her  usual  sweet,  low 
tones.  Then  her  voice  broke,  and  her  blue  eyes  filled 
with  tears. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon ;  I  am  a  brute,"  began  Morris, 


64  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

utterly  abased  by  the  sight  of  these  tears,  which  glim- 
mered like  pearls  in  the  moonlight;  "but, of  course,  you 
know  what  I  mean." 

Mary  shook  her  head  vacantly.  Apparently  she 
could  not  trust  herself  to  speak. 

"  Dear,  will  you  take  me  ? " 

She  made  no  answer ;  only,  after  pausing  for  some  few 
seconds  as  though  lost  in  thought,  with  a  little  action 
more  eloquent  than  any  speech,  she  leant  herself  ever 
so  slightly  towards  him. 

Afterwards,  as  she  lay  in  his  arms,  words  came  to  him 
readily  enough : 

"  I  am  not  worth  your  having,"  he  said.  "  I  know  I 
am  an  odd  fellow,  not  like  other  men ;  my  very  failings 
have  not  been  the  same  as  other  men's.  For  instance 

—  before  heaven  it  is  true  —  you  are  the  first  woman 
whom  I  ever  kissed,  as  I  swear  to  you  that  you  shall  be 
the  last.     Then,  what  else  am  I  ?     A  failure  in  the  very 
work  that  I  have  chosen,  and  the  heir  to  a  bankrupt 
property !     Oh !  it  is  not  fair ;  I  have  no  right  to  ask 
you!" 

"  I  think  it  quite  fair,  and  here  I  am  the  judge,  Mor- 
ris." Then,  sentence  by  sentence,  she  went  on,  not  all 
at  once,  but  with  breaks  and  pauses : 

"  You  asked  me  just  now  if  I  loved  you,  and  I  told  you 

—  Yes.      But  you  did  not  ask  me  when  I  began  to  love 
you.     I  will  tell  you  all  the  same.     I  can't  remember  a 
time  when  I  didn't;    no,  not  since  I  was  a  little  girl. 
It  was  you  who   grew  away  from  me,  not   me   from 
you,  when  you  took  to  studying  mysticism  and  aero- 
phones, and  were  repelled  by  all  women,   myself  in- 
cluded." 


A  PROPOSAL  AND  A   PROMISE  65 

"I  know,  I  know,"  he  said.  "Don't  remind  me  of  my 
dead  follies.  Some  things  are  born  in  the  blood." 

"  Quite  so,  and  they  remain  in  the  bone.  I  under- 
stand. Morris,  unless  you  maltreat  me  wilfully  —  which 
I  am  sure  you  would  never  do  —  I  shall  always  under- 
stand." 

"  What  are  you  afraid  of  ? "  he  asked  in  a  shaken 
voice.  "  I  feel  that  you  are  afraid." 

"  Oh,  one  or  two  things ;  that  you  might  overwork 
yourself,  for  instance.  Or,  lest  you  should  find  that 
after  all  you  are  more  human  than  you  imagine,  and  be 
taken  possession  of  by  some  strange  Stella  coming  out 
of  nowhere." 

"What  do  you  mean,  and  why  do  you  use  that  name  ?" 
he  said  amazed. 

"What  I  say,  dear.  As  for  that  name,  I  heard  it 
accidentally  at  table  to-night,  and  it  came  to  my  lips  —  of 
itself.  It  seemed  to  typify  what  I  meant,  and  to  suggest 
a  wandering  star  —  such  as  men  like  you  are  fond  of 
following." 

"Upon  my  honour,"  said  Morris,  "I  will  do  none  of 
these  things." 

"  If  you  can  help  it,  you  will  do  none  of  them.  I 
know  it  well  enough.  I  hope  and  believe  that  there 
will  never  be  a  shadow  between  us  while  we  live.  But, 
Morris,  I  take  you,  risks  and  all,  because  it  has  been  my 
chance  to  love  you  and  nobody  else.  Otherwise,  I  should 
think  twice ;  but  love  doesn't  stop  at  risks." 

"What  have  I  done  to  deserve  this  ?  "  groaned  Morris. 

"  I  cannot  see.  I  should  very  much  like  to  know," 
replied  Mary,  with  a  touch  of  her  old  humour. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  Colonel  Monk,  happening 


66  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

to  come  round  the  corner  of  the  house,  walking  on  the 
grass,  and  followed  by  Mr.  Person,  saw  a  sight  which 
interested  him.  With  one  hand  he  pointed  it  out  to 
Porson,  at  the  same  moment  motioning  him  to  silence 
with  the  other.  Then,  taking  his  brother-in-law  by  the 
arm,  he  dragged  him  back  round  the  corner  of  the  house. 
"  They  make  a  pretty  picture  there  in  the  moonlight, 
don't  they,  John,  my  boy  ?  "  he  said.  "  Come,  we  had 
better  go  back  into  the  study  and  talk  over  matters  till 
they  have  done.  Even  the  warmth  of  their  emotions 
won't  keep  out  the  night  air  for  ever." 


CHAPTER  VI 
THE  GOOD  DAYS 

FOR  the  next  month,  or,  to  be  accurate,  the  next  five 
weeks,  everything  went  merrily  at  Monk's  Abbey.  It 
was  as  though  some  cloud  had  been  lifted  off  the  place 
and  those  who  dwelt  therein.  No  longer  did  the  Colonel 
look  solemn  when  he  came  down  in  the  morning,  and 
no  longer  was  he  cross  after  he  had  read  his  letters. 
Now  his  interviews  with  the  steward  in  the  study  were 
neither  prolonged  nor  anxious  ;  indeed,  that  functionary 
emerged  thence  on  Saturday  mornings  with  a  shining 
countenance,  drying  the  necessary  cheque,  heretofore  so 
difficult  to  extract,  by  waving  it  ostentatiously  in  the  air. 
Lastly,  the  Colonel  did  not  seem  to  be  called  upon  to 
make  such  frequent  visits  to  his  man  of  business,  and  to 
tarry  at  the  office  of  the  bank  manager  in  Northwold. 
Once  there  was  a  meeting,  but,  contrary  to  the  general 
custom,  the  lawyer  and  the  banker  came  to  see  him  in 
company,  and  stopped  to  luncheon.  At  this  meal,  more- 
over, the  three  of  them  appeared  to  be  in  the  best  of 
spirits. 

Morris  noted  all  these  things  in  his  quiet,  observant 
way,  and  from  them  drew  certain  conclusions  of  his 
own.  But  he  shrank  from  making  inquiries,  nor  did  the 
Colonel  offer  any  confidences.  After  all,  why  should 
he,  who  had  never  meddled  with  his  father's  business, 

67 


68  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

choose  this  moment  to  explore  it,  especially  as  he  knew 
from  previous  experience  that  such  investigations  would 
not  be  well  received  ?  It  was  one  of  the  Colonel's  pe- 
culiarities to  keep  his  affairs  to  himself  until  they  grew 
so  bad  that  circumstances  forced  him  to  seek  the  coun- 
sel or  the  aid  of  others.  Still,  Morris  could  well  guess 
from  what  mine  the  money  was  digged  that  caused  so 
comfortable  a  change  in  their  circumstances,  and  the 
solution  of  this  mystery  gave  him  little  joy.  Cash  in 
consideration  of  an  unconcluded  marriage;  that  was 
how  it  read.  To  his  sensitive  nature  the  transaction 
seemed  one  of  doubtful  worth. 

However,  no  one  else  appeared  to  be  troubled,  if,  in- 
deed, these  things  existed  elsewhere  than  in  his  own  imag- 
ination. This,  Morris  admitted,  was  possible,  for  their 
access  of  prosperity  might,  after  all,  be  no  more  than  a 
resurrection  of  credit,  vivified  by  the  news  of  his  engage- 
ment with  the  only  child  of  a  man  known  to  be  wealthy. 
His  uncle  Person,  with  a  solemnity  that  was  almost 
touching,  had  bestowed  upon  Mary  and  himself  a  jerky 
but  earnest  blessing  before  he  drove  home  on  the  night 
of  the  dinner-party.  He  went  so  far,  indeed,  as  to  kiss 
them  both ;  an  example  which  the  Colonel  followed  with 
a  more  finished  but  equally  heartfelt  grace. 

Now  his  uncle  John  beamed  upon  him  daily  like  the 
noonday  sun.  Also  he  began  to  take  him  into  his  con- 
fidence, and  consult  him  as  to  the  erection  of  houses, 
affairs  of  business,  and  investments.  In  the  course  of 
these  interviews  Morris  was  astonished,  not  to  say  dis- 
mayed, to  discover  how  large  were  the  sums  of  money 
as  to  the  disposal  of  which  he  was  expected  to  express 
opinions. 


THE  GOOD  DAYS  69 

"You  see,  it  will  all  be  yours,  my  boy,"  said  Mr. 
Person  one  day,  in  explanation ;  "  so  it  is  best  that  you 
should  know  something  of  these  affairs.  Yes,  it  will  all 
be  yours,  before  very  long,"  and  he  sighed. 

"  I  trust  that  I  shall  have  nothing  to  do  with  it  for 
many  years,"  blurted  out  Morris. 

"  Say  months,  say  months,"  answered  his  uncle, 
stretching  out  his  hands  as  though  to  push  something 
from  him.  Then,  to  all  appearances  overcome  by  a  sud- 
den anguish,  physical  or  mental,  he  turned  and  hurried 
from  the  room. 

Taking  them  all  together,  those  five  weeks  were  the 
happiest  that  Morris  had  ever  known.  A  weight  had 
lifted  itself  from  his  soul.  No  longer  was  he  profoundly 
dissatisfied  with  things  in  general,  no  longer  ravaged 
by  that  desire  of  the  moth  for  the  star  which  in  some 
natures  is  almost  a  disease.  His  outlook  upon  the 
world  was  healthier  and  more  hopeful;  for  the  first 
time  he  saw  its  wholesome,  joyous  side.  Had  he  failed 
to  do  so,  indeed,  he  must  have  been  a  very  strange  man, 
for  he  had  much  to  make  the  poorest  heart  rejoice. 

Thus  Mary,  always  a  charming  woman,  since  her 
engagement  had  become  absolutely  delightful;  wittier, 
more  wideawake,  more  beautiful.  Morris  could  look 
forward  to  the  years  to  be  spent  in  her  company  not 
only  without  misgiving,  but  with  a  confidence  that  a 
while  ago  he  would  have  thought  impossible.  More- 
over, as  good  fortunes  never  come  singly,  his  were  des- 
tined to  be  multiplied.  It  was  in  those  days  after  so 
many  years  of  search  and  unfruitful  labour  that  at  last 
he  discovered  a  clue  which  in  the  end  resulted  in  the 
perfection  of  the  instrument  that  was  the  parent  of  the 


70  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

aerophone  of  commerce,  and  gave  him  a  name  among 
the  inventors  of  the  century  which  will  not  easily  be 
forgotten. 

Strangely  enough,  it  was  Morris's  good  genius,  Mary, 
who  suggested  the  substance,  or,  rather,  the  mixture  of 
substances,  whereof  that  portion  of  the  aerophone  was 
finally  constructed  which  is  still  known  as  the  Monk 
Sound  Waves  Receiver.  Whether,  as  she  alleged,  she 
made  this  discovery  by  pure  accident,  or  whether,  as 
seems  possible,  she  had  thought  the  problem  out  in  her 
own  feminine  fashion  with  results  that  proved  excellent, 
does  not  matter  in  the  least.  The  issue  remains  the 
same.  An  apparatus  which  before  would  work  only  on 
rare  occasions  —  and  then  without  any  certitude  —  be- 
tween people  in  the  highest  state  of  sympathy  or  nervous 
excitement,  has  now  been  brought  to  such  a  stage  of 
perfection  that  by  its  means  anybody  can  talk  to  any- 
body, even  if  their  interests  are  antagonistic,  or  their 
personal  enmity  bitter. 

After  the  first  few  experiments  with  this  new  material 
Morris  was  not  slow  to  discover  that  although  it  would 
need  long  and  careful  testing  and  elaboration,  for  him  it 
meant,  in  the  main,  the  realisation  of  his  great  dream, 
and  success  after  years  of  failure.  And  —  that  was  the 
strange  part  of  it  —  this  realisation  and  success  he  owed 
to  no  effort  of  his  own,  but  to  some  chance  suggestion 
made  by  Mary.  He  told  her  this,  and  thanked  her  as 
a  man  thanks  one  through  whom  he  has  found  salva- 
tion. In  answer  she  merely  laughed,  saying  that  she 
was  nothing  but  the  wire  along  which  a  happy  in- 
spiration had  reached  his  brain,  and  that  more  than  this 
she  neither  wished,  nor  hoped,  nor  was  capable  of  being. 


THE  GOOD  DAYS  71 

Then  suddenly  on  this  happy,  tranquil  atmosphere 
which  wrapped  them  about  —  like  the  sound  of  a  pass- 
ing bell  at  a  children's  feast  —  floated  the  first  note  of 
impending  doom  and  death. 

The  autumn  held  fine  and  mild,  and  Mary,  who  had  been 
lunching  at  the  Abbey,  was  playing  croquet  with  Morris 
upon  the  side  lawn.  This  game  was  the  only  one  for 
which  she  chanced  to  care,  perhaps  because  it  did  not 
involve  much  exertion.  Morris,  who  engaged  in  the 
pastime  with  the  same  earnestness  that  he  gave  to  every 
other  pursuit  in  which  he  happened  to  be  interested, 
was,  as  might  be  expected,  getting  the  best  of  the 
encounter. 

"  Won't  you  take  a  couple  of  bisques,  dear  ? "  he 
asked  affectionately,  after  a  while.  "  I  don't  like  always 
beating  you  by  such  a  lot." 

"  I'd  die  first,"  she  answered ;  "  bisques  are  the  badge 
of  advertised  inferiority  and  a  mark  of  the  giver's 
contempt." 

"  Stuff !  "  said  Morris. 

"  Stuff,  indeed  !  As  though  it  wasn't  bad  enough  to 
be  beaten  at  all ;  but  to  be  beaten  with  bisques !  " 

"That's  another  argument,"  said  Morris.  "  First  you 
say  you  are  too  proud  to  accept  them,  and  next  that 
you  won't  accept  them  because  it  is  worse  to  be  defeated 
with  points  than  without  them." 

"Anyway,  if  you  had  the  commonest  feelings  of 
humanity  you  wouldn't  beat  me,"  replied  Mary,  adroitly 
shifting  her  ground  for  the  third  time. 

"  How  can  I  help  it  if  you  won't  have  the  bisques?" 

"  How  ?  By  pretending  that  you  were  doing  your 
best,  and  letting  me  win  all  the  same,  of  course ;  though 


72  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

if  I  caught  you  at  it  I  should  be  furious.  But  what's 
the  use  of  trying  to  teach  a  blunt  creature  like  you  tact  ? 
My  dear  Morris,  I  assure  you  I  do  not  believe  that  your 
efforts  at  deception  would  take  in  the  simplest-minded 
cow.  Why,  even  Dad  sees  through  you,  and  the  person 

who  can't  impose  upon  my  Dad .  Oh  !  "  she  added, 

suddenly,  in  a  changed  voice,  "  there  is  George  coming 
through  the  gate.  Something  has  happened  to  my 
father.  Look  at  his  face,  Morris  ;  look  at  his  face !  " 

In  another  moment  the  footman  stood  before  them. 

"Please,  miss,  the  master,"  he  began,  and  hesitated. 

"  Not  dead  ? "  said  Mary,  in  a  slow,  quiet  voice.  "  Do 
not  say  that  he  is  dead !  " 

"  No,  miss,  but  he  has  had  a  stroke  of  the  heart  or 
something,  and  the  doctor  thought  you  had  better  be 
fetched,  so  I  have  brought  the  carriage." 

"Come  with  me,  Morris,"  she  said,  as,  dropping  the 
croquet  mallet,  she  flew  rather  than  ran  to  the  brougham. 

Ten  minutes  later  they  were  at  Seaview.  In  the  hall 
they  met  Mr.  Charters,  the  doctor.  Why  was  he  leaving  ? 
Because 

"  No,  no,"  he  said,  answering  their  looks;  "  the  danger 
is  past.  He  seems  almost  as  well  as  ever." 

"  Thank  God !  "  stammered  Mary.  Then  a  thought 
struck  her,  and  she  looked  up  sharply  and  asked,  "  Will 
it  come  back  again  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  was  his  straightforward  answer. 

"  When  ? " 

"  From  time  to  time,  at  irregular  periods.  But  in  its 
fatal  shape,  as  I  hope,  not  for  some  years." 

"The  verdict  might  have  been  worse,  dear,"  said 
Morris. 


THE  GOOD  DAYS  73 

"  Yes,  yes,  but  to  think  that  it  has  passed  so  near  to 
him,  and  he  quite  alone  at  the  time.  Morris,"  she 
went  on,  turning  to  him  with  an  energy  that  was 
almost  fierce,  "  if  you  won't  have  my  father  to  live  with 
us,  I  won't  marry  you.  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

"  Perfectly,  dear,  you  leave  no  room  for  misconcep- 
tion. By  all  means  let  him  live  with  us  —  if  he  can  get 
on  with  my  father,"  he  added  meaningly. 

"  Ah  !  "  she  replied,  "  I  never  thought  of  that.  Also 
I  should  not  have  spoken  so  roughly,  but  I  have  had 
such  a  shock  that  I  feel  inclined  to  treat  you  like  — 
like  —  a  toad  under  a  harrow.  So  please  be  sympa- 
thetic, and  don't  misunderstand  me,  or  I  don't  know 
what  I  shall  say."  Then  by  way  of  making  amends, 
Mary  put  her  arms  round  his  neck  and  gave  him  a  kiss 
"all  of  her  own  accord,"  saying,  "Morris,  I  am  afraid 
—  I  am  afraid.  I  feel  as  if  our  good  time  was  done." 

After  this  the  servant  came  to  say  that  she  might  go 
up  to  her  father's  room,  and  that  scene  of  our  drama 
was  at  an  end. 

Mr.  Person  owned  a  villa  at  Beaulieu,  in  the  south 
of  France,  which  he  had  built  many  years  before  as  a 
winter  house  for  his  wife,  whose  chest  was  weak.  Here 
he  was  in  the  habit  of  spending  the  spring  months, 
more,  perhaps,  because  of  the  associations  which  the 
place  possessed  for  him  than  of  any  affection  for  foreign 
lands.  Now,  however,  after  this  last  attack,  three 
doctors  in  consultation  announced  that  it  would  be  well 
for  him  to  escape  from  the  fogs  and  damp  of  England. 
So  to  Beaulieu  he  was  ordered. 

This  decree  caused  consternation  in  various  quar- 
ters. Mr.  Person  did  not  wish  to  go ;  Mary  and  Morris 


74  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

were  cast  down  for  simple  and  elementary  reasons ;  and 
Colonel  Monk  found  this  change  of  plan  —  it  had  been 
arranged  that  the  Persons  should  stop  at  Seaview  till 
the  New  Year,  which  was  to  be  the  day  of  the  marriage 
—  inconvenient,  and,  indeed,  disturbing.  Once  those 
young  people  were  parted,  reflected  the  Colonel  in  his 
wisdom,  who  could  tell  what  might  or  might  not 
happen  ? 

In  this  difficulty  he  found  an  inspiration.  Why 
should  not  the  wedding  take  place  at  once  ?  Very 
diplomatically  he  sounded  his  brother-in-law,  to  find 
that  he  had  no  opposition  to  fear  in  this  quarter  pro- 
vided that  Mary  and  her  husband  would  join  him  at 
Beaulieu  after  a  week  or  two  of  honeymoon.  Then  he 
spoke  to  Morris,  who  was  delighted  with  the  idea.  For 
Morris  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  marriage 
state  would  be  better  and  more  satisfactory  than  one  of 
prolonged  engagement. 

It  only  remained,  therefore,  to  obtain  the  consent  of 
Mary,  which  would,  perhaps,  have  been  given  without 
much  difficulty  had  her  uncle  been  content  to  leave  his 
son  or  Mr.  Porson  to  ask  it  of  her.  As  it  chanced,  this 
he  was  not  willing  to  do.  Porson,  he  was  sure,  would 
at  once  give  way  should  his  daughter  raise  any  objec- 
tion, and  in  Morris's  tact  and  persuasive  powers  the 
Colonel  had  no  faith. 

In  the  issue,  confident  in  his  own  diplomatic  abilities, 
he  determined  to  manage  the  affair  himself  and  to  speak 
to  his  niece.  The  mistake  was  grave,  for  whereas  she 
was  as  wax  to  her  father  or  her  lover,  something  in  her 
uncle's  manner,  or  it  may  have  been  his  very  personal- 
ity, always  aroused  in  Mary  a  spirit  of  opposition.  On 


THE  GOOD  DAYS  75 

this  occasion,  too,  that  manner  was  not  fortunate,  for  he 
put  the  proposal  before  her  as  a  thing  already  agreed 
upon  by  all  concerned,  and  one  to  which  her  consent 
was  asked  as  a  mere  matter  of  form. 

Instantly  Mary  became  antagonistic.  She  pretended 
not  to  understand ;  she  asked  for  reasons  and  explana- 
tions. Finally,  she  announced  in  idle  words,  beneath 
which  ran  a  current  of  determination,  that  neither  her 
father  nor  Morris  could  really  wish  this  hurried  mar- 
riage, since  had  they  done  so  one  or  other  of  them 
would  have  spoken  to  her  on  the  subject.  When 
pressed,  she  intimated  very  politely,  but  in  language 
whereof  the  meaning  could  hardly  be  mistaken,  that 
she  held  this  fixing  of  the  date  to  be  peculiarly  her 
own  privilege ;  and  when  still  further  pressed  said 
plainly  that  she  considered  her  father  too  ill  for  her  to 
think  of  being  married  at  present. 

"  But  they  both  desire  it,"  expostulated  the  Colonel. 

"They_have  not  told  me  so,"  Mary  answered,  setting 
her  red  lips. 

"  If  that  is  all,  they  will  tell  you  so  soon  enough,  my 
dear  girl." 

"  Perhaps,  uncle,  after  they  have  been  directed  to  do 
so,  but  that  is  not  quite  the  same  thing." 

The  Colonel  saw  that  he  had  made  a  mistake,  and 
too  late  changed  his  tactics. 

"  You  see,  Mary,  your  father's  state  of  health  is  pre- 
carious ;  he  might  grow  worse." 

She  tapped  her  foot  upon  the  ground.  Of  these 
allusions  to  the  possible,  and,  indeed,  the  certain  end 
to  her  beloved  father's  illness,  she  had  a  kind  of 
horror. 


76  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

"  In  that  event,  that  dreadful  event,"  she  answered, 
"  he  will  need  me,  my  whole  time  and  care  to  nurse 
him.  These  I  might  not  be  able  to  give  if  I  were 
already  married.  I  love  Morris  very  dearly.  I  am  his 
for  whatever  I  may  be  worth ;  but  I  was  my  father's 
before  Morris  came  into  my  life,  and  he  has  the  first 
claim  upon  me." 

"  What,  then,  do  you  propose  ? "  asked  the  Colonel 
curtly,  for  opposition  and  argument  bred  no  meekness 
in  his  somewhat  arbitrary  breast. 

"To  be  married  on  New  Year's  Day,  wherever  we 
are,  if  Morris  wishes  it  and  the  state  of  my  father's 
health  makes  it  convenient.  If  not,  Uncle  Richard,  to 
wait  till  a  more  fitting  season."  Then  she  rose  —  for 
this  conversation  took  place  at  Seaview  —  saying  that 
it  was  time  she  should  give  her  father  his  medicine. 

Thus  the  project  of  an  early  marriage  fell  through ; 
for,  having  once  been  driven  into  announcing  her  decision 
in  terms  so  open  and  unmistakable,  Mary  would  not  go 
back  upon  her  word. 

Morris,  who  was  much  disappointed,  pleaded  with  her. 
Her  father  also  spoke  upon  the  subject,  but  though  the 
voice  was  the  voice  of  Mr.  Person,  the  arguments,  she 
perceived,  were  the  arguments  of  Colonel  Monk.  There- 
fore she  hardened  her  heart  and  put  the  matter  by,  re- 
fusing, indeed,  to  discuss  it  at  any  length.  Yet  —  and 
it  is  not  the  first  time  that  a  woman  has  allowed  her 
whims  to  prevail  over  her  secret  wishes  —  in  truth  she 
desired  nothing  more  than  to  be  married  to  Morris  so 
soon  as  it  was  his  will  to  take  her. 

Finally,  a  compromise  was  arranged.  There  was  to 
be  no  wedding  at  present,  but  the  whole  party  were  to 


THE  GOOD  DAYS  77 

go  together  to  Beaulieu,  there  to  await  the  development 
of  events.  It  was  agreed,  moreover,  by  all  concerned, 
that  unless  something  unforeseen  occurred  to  prevent 
it,  the  marriage  should  be  celebrated  upon  or  about 
New  Year's  Day. 


CHAPTER  VII 

BEAULIEU 

BEAUTIFUL  as  it  might  be  and  fashionable  as  it  might 
be,  Morris  did  not  find  Beaulieu  very  entertaining; 
indeed,  in  an  unguarded  moment  he  confessed  to  Mary 
that  he  "  hated  the  hole."  Even  the  steam  launch  in 
which  they  went  for  picnics  did  not  console  him,  fond 
though  he  was  of  the  sea ;  while  as  for  Monte  Carlo, 
after  his  third  visit  he  was  heard  to  declare  that  if  they 
wanted  to  take  him  there  again  it  must  be  in  his  coffin. 

The  Colonel  did  not  share  these  views.  He  was 
out  for  a  holiday,  and  he  meant  to  enjoy  himself.  To 
begin  with,  there  was  the  club  at  Nice,  where  he  fell  in 
with  several  old  comrades  and  friends.  Then,  whom 
should  he  meet  but  Lady  Rawlins :  once,  for  a  little 
while  in  the  distant  past,  they  had  been  engaged ;  until 
suddenly  the  young  lady,  a  beauty  in  her  day,  jilted  him 
in  favour  of  a  wealthy  banker  of  Hebraic  origin.  Now, 
many  years  after,  the  banker  was  aged,  violent,  and  un- 
comely, habitually  exceeded  in  his  cups,  and  abused  his 
wife  before  the  servants.  So  it  came  about  that  to  the 
poor  woman  the  Colonel's  courteous,  if  somewhat  sar- 
castic, consolations  were  really  very  welcome.  It  pleased 
him  also  to  offer  them.  The  jilting  he  had  long  ago  for- 
given ;  indeed,  he  blessed  her  nightly  for  having  taken 

78 


BEAU  LIEU  79 

that  view  of  her  obligations,  seeing  that  Jane  Millet,  as 
she  was  then,  however  pretty  her  face  may  once  have 
been,  had  neither  fortune  nor  connections. 

"Yes,  my  dear  Jane,"  he  said  to  her  confidentially 
one  afternoon,  "I  assure  you  I  often  admire  your  fore- 
sight. Now,  if  you  had  done  the  other  thing,  where 
should  we  have  been  to-day?  In  the  workhouse,  I 
imagine." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  answered  Lady  Rawlins,  meekly,  and 
suppressing  a  sigh,  since  for  the  courtly  and  distinguished 
Colonel  she  cherished  a  sentimental  admiration  which 
actually  increased  with  age ;  "  but  you  didn't  always 
think  like  that,  Richard."  Then  she  glanced  out  of  the 
window,  and  added  :  "  Oh,  there  is  Jonah  coming  home, 
and  he  looks  so  cross,"  and  the  poor  lady  shivered. 

The  Colonel  put  up  his  eyeglass  and  contemplated 
Jonah,  through  the  window.  He  was  not  a  pleasing 
spectacle.  A  rather  low-class  Hebrew  who  calls  himself 
a  Christian,  of  unpleasant  appearance  and  sinister  tem- 
per, suffering  from  the  effects  of  lunch,  is  not  an  object 
to  be  loved. 

"Ah,  I  see,"  said  the  Colonel.  "Yes,  Sir  Jonah  ages, 
doesn't  he  ?  as,  indeed,  we  do  all  of  us,"  and  he  glanced 
at  the  lady's  spreading  proportions.  Then  he  went  on. 
"You  really  should  persuade  him  to  be  tidier  in  his 
costume,  Jane;  his  ancestral  namesake  could  scarcely 
have  looked  more  dishevelled  after  his  sojourn  with  the 
whale.  Well,  it  is  a  small  failing ;  one  can't  have  every- 
thing, and  on  the  whole,  with  your  wealth  and  the  rest, 
you  have  been  a  very  fortunate  woman." 

"Oh,  Richard,  how  can  you  say  so?"  murmured  the 
wretched  Lady  Rawlins,  as  she  took  the  hand  out- 


80  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

stretched  in  farewell.  For  Jonah  in  large  doses  was 
more  than  the  Colonel  could  stomach. 

Indeed,  as  the  door  closed  behind  him  she  wiped 
away  a  tear,  whispering  to  herself :  "  And  to  think  that 
I  threw  over  dear  Richard  in  order  to  marry  that  — 
that  —  yes,  I  will  say  it  —  that  horror!" 

Meanwhile,  as  he  strolled  down  the  street,  beautifully 
dressed,  and  still  looking  very  upright  and  handsome  — 
for  he  had  never  lost  his  figure  —  the  Colonel  was  saying 
to  himself : 

"Silly  old  woman!  Well,  I  hope  that  by  now  she 
knows  the  difference  between  a  gentleman  and  a  half- 
Christianised,  money-hunting,  wine-bibbing  Jew.  How- 
ever, she's  got  the  fortune,  which  was  what  she  wanted, 
although  she  forgets  it  now,  and  he's  got  a  lachrymose, 
stout,  old  party.  But  how  beautiful  she  used  to  be ! 
My  word,  how  beautiful  she  used  to  be !  To  go  to  see 
her  now  is  better  than  any  sermon ;  it  is  an  admirable 
moral  exercise." 

To  Lady  Rawlins  also  the  Colonel's  visits  proved 
excellent  moral  exercises  tinged  with  chastenings. 
Whenever  he  went  away  he  left  behind  him  some 
aphorism  or  reflection  filled  with  a  wholesome  bitter. 
But  still  she  sought  his  society  and,  in  secret,  adored 
him. 

In  addition  to  the  club  and  Lady  Rawlins  there  were 
the  tables  at  Monte  Carlo,  with  their  motley  company, 
which  to  a  man  of  the  world  could  not  fail  to  be  amus- 
ing. Besides,  the  Colonel  had  one  weakness — sometimes 
he  did  a  little  gambling,  and  when  he  played  he  liked  to 
play  fairly  high.  Morris  accompanied  him  once  to  the 
"  Salles  de  jeu,"  and  —  that  was  enough.  What  passed 


BEAU  LIEU  8 1 

there  exactly,  could  never  be  got  out  of  him,  even  by 
Mary,  whose  sense  of  humour  was  more  than  satisfied 
by  the  little  comedies  in  progress  about  her,  no  single 
point  of  which  did  she  ever  miss. 

Only,  funny  as  she  might  be  in  her  general  feebleness, 
and  badly  as  she  might  have  behaved  in  some  distant 
past,  for  poor  Lady  Rawlins  she  felt  sorry.  Her  kind 
heart  told  Mary  that  this  unhappy  person  also  possessed 
a  heart,  although  she  was  now  stout  and  on  the  wrong 
side  of  middle  age.  She  was  aware,  too,  that  the 
Colonel  knew  as  much,  and  his  scientific  pin-pricks 
and  searings  of  that  guileless  and  unprotected  organ 
struck  her  as  little  short  of  cruel.  None  the  less  so, 
indeed,  because  the  victim  at  the  stake  imagined  that 
they  were  inflicted  in  kindness  by  the  hand  of  a  still 
tender  and  devoted  friend. 

"  I  hope  that  I  shan't  quarrel  with  my  father-in-law," 
reflected  Mary  to  herself,  after  one  of  the  best  of  these 
exhibitions ;  "  he's  got  an  uncommonly  long  memory,  and 
likes  to  come  even.  However,  I  never  shall,  because 
he's  afraid  of  me  and  knows  that  I  see  through 
him." 

Mary  was  right.  A  very  sincere  respect  for  her 
martial  powers  when  roused  ensured  perfect  peace 
between  her  and  the  Colonel.  With  his  son,  however, 
it  was  otherwise.  Even  in  this  age  of  the  Triumph  of 
the  Offspring  parents  do  exist  who  take  advantage  of 
their  sons'  strict  observance  of  the  Fifth  Commandment. 
It  is  easy  to  turn  a  man  into  a  moral  bolster  and  sit 
upon  him  if  you  know  that  an  exaggerated  sense  of 
filial  duty  will  prevent  him  from  stuffing  himself  with 
pins.  So  it  came  about  that  Morris  was  sometimes  sat 


82  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

upon,  especially  when  the  Colonel  was  suffering  from  a 
bad  evening  at  the  tables ;  well  out  of  sight  and  hear- 
ing of  Mary,  be  it  understood,  who  on  such  occasions 
was  apt  to  develop  a  quite  formidable  temper. 

It  is  over  this  question  of  the  tables  that  one  of  these 
domestic  differences  arose  which  in  its  results  brought 
about  the  return  of  Morris  to  Monksland.  Upon  a  cer- 
tain afternoon  the  Colonel  asked  his  son  to  accompany 
him  to  Monte  Carlo.  Morris  refused,  rather  curtly, 
perhaps. 

"  Very  well,"  replied  the  Colonel  in  his  grandest  man- 
ner. "  I  am  sure  I  do  not  wish  for  an  unwilling  com- 
panion, and  doubtless  your  attention  is  claimed  by 
affairs  more  important  than  the  according  of  your 
company  to  a  father." 

"No,"  replied  Morris,  with  his  accustomed  truthfulness; 
"  I  am  going  out  sea-fishing,  that  is  all." 

"  Quite  so.  Allow  me  then  to  wish  good  luck  to  your 
fishing.  Does  Mary  accompany  you  ? " 

"  No,  I  think  not;  she  says  the  boat  makes  her  sick, 
and  she  can't  bear  eels." 

"  So  much  the  better,  as  I  can  ask  for  the  pleasure  of 
her  society  this  afternoon." 

"  Yes,  you  can  ask,"  said  Morris,  suddenly  turning 
angry. 

"  Do  you  imply,  Morris,  that  the  request  will  be 
refused  ? " 

"  Certainly,  father ;  if  I  have  anything  to  do  with  it." 

"  And  might  I  inquire  why  ? " 

"  Because  I  won't  have  Mary  taken  to  that  place  to 
mix  with  the  people  who  frequent  it." 

"  I  see.    This  is  exclusiveness  with  a  vengeance.    Per- 


BEAULIEU  83 

haps  you  consider  that  those  unholy  doors  should  be 
shut  to  me  also." 

"  I  have  no  right  to  express  an  opinion  as  to  where 
my  father  should  or  should  not  go ;  but  if  you  ask  me,  I 
think  that,  under  all  the  circumstances,  you  would  do 
best  to  keep  away." 

"  The  circumstances !     What  circumstances  ? " 

"  Those  of  our  poverty,  which  leaves  us  no  money  to 
risk  in  gambling." 

Then  the  Colonel  lost  all  control  of  his  temper,  as 
sometimes  happened  to  him,  and  became  exceedingly 
violent  and  unpleasant.  What  he  said  does  not  matter ; 
let  it  suffice  that  the  remarks  were  of  a  character  which 
even  headstrong  men  are  accustomed  to  reserve  for  the 
benefit  of  their  women-folk  and  other  intimate  relations. 

Attracted  by  the  noise,  which  was  considerable,  Mary 
came  in  to  find  her  uncle  marching  up  and  down  the 
room  vituperating  Morris,  who,  with  quite  a  new  expres- 
sion upon  his  face  —  a  quiet,  dogged  kind  of  expression 
—  was  leaning  upon  the  mantel-piece  and  watching 
him. 

"  Uncle,"  began  Mary,  "would  you  mind  being  a  little 
quieter  ?  My  father  is  asleep  upstairs,  and  I  am  afraid 
that  you  will  awake  him." 

"  I  am  sorry,  my  dear,  very  sorry,  but  there  are  some 
insults  that  no  man  with  self-respect  can  submit  to,  even 
from  a  eon." 

"Insults!  insults!"  Mary  repeated,  opening  her  blue 
eyes ;  then,  looking  at  him  with  a  pained  air :  "  Morris, 
why  do  you  insult  your  father  ? " 

"  Insult  ?  "  he  replied.  "  Then  I  will  tell  you  how.  My 
father  wanted  to  take  you  to  play  with  him  at  Monte 


84  STELLA   FREGELIUS 

Carlo  this  afternoon,  and  I  said  that  you  shouldn't  go. 
That's  the  insult." 

"  You  observe,  my  dear,"  broke  in  the  Colonel,  "  that 
already  he  treats  you  as  one  having  authority." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mary,  "  and  why  shouldn't  he  ?  Now  that 
my  father  is  so  weak  who  am  I  to  obey  if  not  Morris  ? " 

"  Oh,  well,  well,"  said  the  Colonel,  diplomatically  be- 
ginning to  cool,  for  he  could  control  his  temper  when  he 
liked.  "  Everyone  to  their  taste ;  but  some  matters  are 
so  delicate  that  I  prefer  not  to  discuss  them,"  and  he 
looked  round  for  his  hat. 

By  this  time,  however,  the  cyclonic  condition  of  things 
had  affected  Mary  also,  and  she  determined  that  he 
should  not  escape  so  easily. 

"  Before  you  go,"  she  went  on  in  her  slow  voice,  "  I 
should  like  to  say,  uncle,  that  I  quite  agree  with  Morris. 
I  don't  think  those  tables  are  quite  the  place  to  take 
young  ladies  to,  especially  if  the  gentleman  with  them 
is  much  engaged  in  play." 

"  Indeed,  indeed  ;  then  you  are  both  of  a  mind,  which 
is  quite  as  it  should  be.  Of  course,  too,  upon  such 
matters  of  conduct  and  etiquette  we  must  all  bow  to 
the  taste  and  the  experience  of  the  young  —  even  those 
of  us  who  have  mixed  with  the  world  for  forty  years. 
Might  I  ask,  my  dear  Mary,  if  you  have  any  further 
word  of  advice  for  me  before  I  go  ?" 

"  Yes,  uncle,"  replied  Mary  quite  calmly.  "  I  advise 
you  not  to  lose  so  much  of  —  of  your  money,  or  to  sit 
up  so  late  at  night,  which,  you  know,  never  agrees  with 
you.  Also,  I  wish  you  wouldn't  abuse  Morris  for 
nothing,  because  he  doesn't  deserve  it,  and  I  don't  like 
it ;  and  if  we  are  all  to  live  together  after  I  am  married, 


BEAU  LIEU  85 

it  will  be  so  much  more  comfortable  if  we  can  come  to 
an  understanding  first." 

Then  muttering  something  beneath  his  breath  about 
ladies  in  general  and  this  young  lady  in  particular,  the 
Colonel  departed  with  speed. 

Mary  sat  down  in  an  armchair,  and  fanned  herself 
with  a  pocket-handkerchief. 

"  Thinking  of  the  right  thing  to  say  always  makes  me 
hot,"  she  remarked. 

"  Well,  if  by  the  right  thing  you  mean  the  strong 
thing,  you  certainly  discovered  it,"  replied  Morris,  look- 
ing at  her  with  affectionate  admiration. 

"I  know;  but  it  had  to  be  done,  dear.  He's  losing 
a  lot  of  money,  which  is  mere  waste  "  —  here  Morris 
groaned,  but  asked  no  questions  —  "  besides,"  and  her 
voice  became  earnest,  "  I  will  not  have  him  talking  to 
you  like  that.  The  fact  that  one  man  is  the  father  of 
another  man  doesn't  give  him  the  right  to  abuse  him 
like  a  pickpocket.  Also,  if  you  are  so  good  that  you 
put  up  with  it,  I  have  myself  to  consider  —  that  is,  if  we 
are  all  to  live  as  a  happy  family.  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

"  Perfectly,"  said  Morris.  "  I  daresay  you  are  right, 
but  I  hate  rows." 

"  So  do  I,  and  that  is  why  I  have  accepted  one  or 
two  challenges  to  single  combat  quite  at  the  beginning 
of  things.  You  mark  my  words,  he  will  be  like  a  lamb 
at  breakfast  to-morrow." 

"  You  shouldn't  speak  disrespectfully  of  my  father ; 
at  any  rate,  to  me,"  suggested  the  old-fashioned  Morris, 
rather  mildly. 

"  No,  dear,  and  when  I  have  learnt  to  respect  him  I 
promise  you  that  I  won't.  There,  don't  be  vexed  with 


86  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

me ;  but  my  uncle  Richard  makes  me  cross,  and  then  I 
scratch.  As  he  said  the  other  day,  all  women  are  like 
cats,  you  know.  When  they  are  young  they  play,  when 
they  get  old  they  use  their  claws  —  I  quote  uncle  Rich- 
ard —  and  although  I  am  not  old  yet,  I  can't  help  show- 
ing the  claws.  Dad  is  ill,  that  is  the  fact  of  it,  Morris, 
and  it  gets  upon  my  nerves." 

"  I  thought  he  was  better,  love." 

"  Yes,  he  is  better ;  he  may  live  for  years ;  I  hope  and 
believe  that  he  will,  but  it  is  terribly  uncertain.  And 
now,  look  here,  Morris,  why  don't  you  go  home  ? " 

"  Do  you  want  to  get  rid  of  me,  love  ? "  he  asked, 
looking  up. 

"  No,  I  don't.  You  know  that,  I  am  sure.  But  what 
is  the  use  of  your  stopping  here  ?  There  is  nothing  for 
you  to  do,  and  I  feel  that  you  are  wasting  your  time 
and  that  you  hate  it.  Tell  the  truth.  Don't  you  long 
to  be  back  at  Monksland,  working  at  that  aerophone  ?  " 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  get  on  with  my  experiments, 
but  I  don't  like  leaving  you,"  he  answered. 

"  But  you  had  better  leave  me  for  a  while.  It  is  not 
comfortable  for  you  idling  here,  particularly  when  your 
father  is  in  this  uncertain  temper.  If  all  be  well,  in 
another  couple  of  months  or  so  we  shall  come  together 
for  good,  and  be  able  to  make  our  own  arrangements, 
according  to  circumstances.  Till  then,  if  I  were  you,  I 
should  go  home,  especially  as  I  find  I  can  get  on  with 
my  uncle  much  better  when  you  are  not  here." 

"  Then  what  is  to  happen  after  we  marry,  and  I  can't 
be  sent  away  ?  " 

"  Who  knows  ?  But  if  we  are  not  comfortable  at 
Monk's  Abbey,  we  can  always  set  up  for  ourselves  —  with 


BEAU  LIEU  87 

Dad  at  Seaview,  for  instance.  He's  peaceable  enough ; 
besides,  he  must  be  looked  after ;  and,  to  be  frank,  my 
uncle  hectors  him,  poor  dear." 

"  I  will  think  it  over,"  said  Morris.  "  And  now  come 
for  a  walk  on  the  beach,  and  we  will  forget  all  these 
worries." 

Next  morning  the  Colonel  appeared  at  breakfast  in  a 
perfectly  angelic  frame  of  mind,  having  to  all  appear- 
ance utterly  forgotten  the  "  contretemps"  of  the  previous 
afternoon.  Perhaps  this  was  policy,  or  perhaps  the 
fact  of  his  having  won  several  hundred  pounds  the 
night  before  mollified  his  mood.  At  least  it  had  become 
genial,  and  he  proved  a  most  excellent  companion. 

"Look  here,  old  fellow,"  he  said  to  Morris,  throwing 
him  a  letter  across  the  table ;  "  if  you  have  nothing  to 
do  for  a  week  or  so,  I  wish  you  would  save  an  aged 
parent  a  journey  and  settle  up  this  job  with  Simpkins." 

Morris  read  the  letter.  It  had  to  do  with  the  com- 
plete reerection  of  a  set  of  buildings  on  the  Abbey  farm, 
and  the  putting  up  of  a  certain  drainage  mill.  Over 
this  question  differences  had  arisen  between  the  agent 
Simpkins  and  the  rural  authorities,  who  alleged  that  the 
said  mill  would  interfere  with  an  established  right  of 
way.  Indeed,  things  had  come  to  such  a  point  that  if 
a  lawsuit  was  to  be  avoided  the  presence  of  a  principal 
was  necessary. 

"Simpkins  is  a  quarrelsome  ass,"  explained  the 
Colonel,  "  and  somebody  will  have  to  smooth  those  fel- 
lows down.  Will  you  go  ?  because  if  you  won't  I  must, 
and  I  don't  want  to  break  into  the  first  pleasant  holiday 
I  have  had  for  five  years  —  thanks  to  your  kindness,  my 
dear  John." 


88  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

"  Certainly  I  will  go,  if  necessary,"  answered  Morris. 
"  But  I  thought  you  told  me  a  few  months  ago  that  it 
was  quite  impossible  to  execute  those  alterations,  on 
account  of  the  expense." 

"  Yes,  yes ;  but  I  have  consulted  with  your  uncle  here, 
and  the  matter  has  been  arranged.  Hasn't  it,  John  ? " 

Mr.  Person  was  seated  at  the  end  of  the  table,  and 
Morris,  looking  at  him,  noticed  with  a  shock  how  old  he 
had  suddenly  become.  His  plump,  cheerful  face  had 
fallen  in;  the  cheeks  were  quite  hollow  now;  his  jaws 
seemed  to  protrude,  and  the  skin  upon  his  bald  head  to 
be  drawn  quite  tight  like  the  parchment  on  a  drum. 

"  Of  course,  of  course,  Colonel,"  he  answered,  lifting 
his  chin  from  his  breast,  upon  which  it  was  resting, 
"arranged,  quite  satisfactorily  arranged."  Then  he 
looked  about  rather  vacantly,  for  his  mind,  it  was  clear, 
was  far  away,  and  added,  "  Do  you  want :  I  mean, 
were  you  talking  about  the  new  drainage  mill  for  the 
salt  marshes  ? "  Mary  interrupted  and  explained. 

"  Yes,  yes ;  how  stupid  of  me !  I  am  afraid  I  am 
getting  a  little  deaf,  and  this  air  makes  me  so  sleepy 
in  the  morning.  Now,  just  tell  me  again,  what  is  it? " 

Mary  explained  further. 

"  Morris  to  go  and  see  about  it.  Well,  why  shouldn't 
he  ?  It  doesn't  take  long  to  get  home  nowadays.  Not 
but  that  we  shall  be  sorry  to  lose  you,  my  dear  boy ;  or, 
at  least,  one  of  us  will  be  sorry,"  and  he  tried  to  wink 
in  his  old  jovial  fashion,  and  chuckled  feebly. 

Mary  saw  and  sighed;  while  the  Colonel  shook  his 
head  portentously.  Nobody  could  play  the  part  of 
Job's  comforter  to  greater  perfection. 

The  end  of  it  was  that,  after  a  certain  space  of  hesi- 


BEAU  LIEU  89 

tation,  Morris  agreed  to  go.  This  "  me'nage  "  at  Beaulieu 
oppressed  him,  and  he  hated  the  place.  Besides,  Mary, 
seeing  that  he  was  worried,  almost  insisted  on  his 
departure. 

"  If  I  want  you  back  I  will  send  for  you,"  she  said. 
"  Go  to  your  work,  dear;  you  will  be  happier." 

So  he  kissed  her  fondly  and  went  —  as  he  was  fated 
to  go. 

"  Good-bye,  my  dear  son,"  said  Mr.  Person  —  some- 
times he  called  him  his  son,  now.  "  I  hope  that  I  shall 
see  you  again  soon,  and  if  I  don't,  you  will  be  kind  to 
my  daughter  Mary,  won't  you  ?  You  understand,  every- 
body else  is  dead  —  my  wife  is  dead,  my  boy  is  dead,  and 
soon  I  shall  be  dead.  So  naturally  I  think  a  good  deal 
about  her.  You  will  be  kind  to  her,  won't  you  ?  Good- 
bye, my  son,  and  don't  trouble  about  money ;  there's 
plenty." 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  SUNK  ROCKS  AND  THE  SINGER 

MORRIS  arrived  home  in  safety,  and  speedily  settled 
the  question  of  the  drainage  mill  to  the  satisfaction  of 
all  concerned.  But  he  did  not  return  to  Beaulieu.  To 
begin  with,  although  the  rural  authorities  ceased  to 
trouble  them,  his  father  was  most  urgent  that  he  should 
stay  and  supervise  the  putting  up  of  the  new  farm  build- 
ings, and  wrote  to  him  nearly  every  day  to  this  effect. 
It  occurred  to  his  son  that  under  the  circumstances  he 
might  have  come  to  look  after  the  buildings  himself; 
also,  that  perhaps  he  found  the  villa  at  Beaulieu  more 
comfortable  without  his  presence ;  a  conjecture  in  which 
he  was  perfectly  correct. 

Upon  the  first  point,  also,  letters  from  Mary  soon 
enlightened  him.  It  appeared  that  shortly  after  his 
departure  Sir  Jonah,  in  a  violent  fit  of  rage,  brought  on 
by  drink  and  a  remark  of  his  wife's  that  had  she  mar- 
ried Colonel  Monk  she  "would  have  been  a  happy 
woman,"  burst  a  small  blood-vessel  in  his  head,  with 
the  strange  result  that  from  a  raging  animal  of  a  man 
he  had  been  turned  into  an  amiable  and  perfectly 
harmless  imbecile.  Under  so  trying  a  domestic  blow, 
naturally,  Mary  explained,  Colonel  Monk  felt  it  to  be 
his  duty  to  support  and  comfort  his  old  friend  to  the 
best  of  his  ability.  "This,"  added  Mary,  "he  does  for 

90 


THE  SUNK  ROCKS  AND   THE  SINGER  91 

about  three  hours  every  day.  I  believe,  indeed,  that  a 
place  is  always  laid  for  him  at  meals,  while  poor  Sir 
Jonah,  for  whom  I  feel  quite  sorry,  although  he  was 
such  a  horrid  man,  sits  in  an  armchair  and  smiles  at 
him  continually." 

So  Morris  determined  to  take  the  advice  which  Mary 
gave  him  very  plainly,  and  abandoned  all  idea  of  return- 
ing to  Beaulieu,  at  any  rate,  on  this  side  of  Christmas.  His 
plans  settled,  he  went  to  work  with  a  will,  and  was  soon 
deeply  absorbed  in  the  manufacture  of  experimental 
receivers  made  from  the  new  substance.  So  completely, 
indeed,  did  these  possess  his  mind  that,  as  Mary  at  last 
complained,  his  letters  to  her  might  with  equal  fitness 
have  been  addressed  to  an  electrical  journal,  since  from 
them  even  diagrams  were  not  lacking. 

So  things  went  on  until  the  event  occurred  which  was 
destined  profoundly  and  mysteriously  to  affect  the  lives 
of  Morris  and  his  affianced  wife.  That  event  was  the 
shipwreck  of  the  steam  tramp,  Trondhjem,  upon  the  well- 
known  Sunk  Rocks  outside  the  Sands  which  run  parallel 
to  the  coast  at  a  distance  of  about  five  knots  from  the 
Monksland  cliff.  In  this  year  of  our  story,  about  the 
middle  of  November,  the  weather  set  in  very  mild 
and  misty.  It  was  the  third  of  these  "  roky  "  nights, 
and  the  sea-fog  poured  along  the  land  like  vapour  from 
an  opened  jar  of  chemicals.  Morris  was  experimenting  at 
the  forge  in  his  workshop  very  late  —  or,  rather  early,  for 
it  was  near  to  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  —  when  of  a 
sudden  through  the  open  window,  rising  from  the  quiet 
sea  beneath,  he  heard  the  rattle  of  oars  in  rowlocks. 
Wondering  what  a  boat  could  be  doing  so  near  inshore 
at  a  season  when  there  was  no  night  fishing,  he  went  to 


92  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

the  window  to  listen.  Presently  he  caught  the  sound  of 
voices  shouting  in  a  tongue  with  which  he  was  unac- 
quainted, followed  by  another  sound,  that  of  a  boat  being 
beached  upon  the  shingle  immediately  below  the  Abbey. 
Now  guessing  that  something  unusual  must  have  hap- 
pened, Morris  took  his  hat  and  coat,  and,  unlocking  the 
Abbot's  door,  lit  a  lantern,  and  descended  the  cement 
steps  to  the  beach.  Here  he  found  himself  in  the  midst 
of  ten  or  twelve  men,  most  of  them  tall  and  bearded,  who 
were  gathered  about  a  ship's  boat  which  they  had 
dragged  up  high  and  dry.  One  of  these  men,  whom 
from  his  uniform  he  judged  to  be  the  captain,  approached 
and  addressed  him  in  a  language  that  he  did  not  under- 
stand, but  imagined  must  be  Danish  or  Norwegian. 

Morris  shook  his  head  to  convey  the  blankness  of 
his  ignorance,  whereupon  other  men  addressed  him,  also 
in  northern  tongues.  Then,  as  he  still  shook  his  head, 
a  lad  of  about  nineteen  came  forward  and  spoke  in 
broken  and  barbarous  French. 

"Naufrag6  la  bas, "  he  said;  "bateau  a  vapeur, 
naufrage  sur  les  rochers — brouillard.  Nous  £chappe." 

"Tous?"  asked  Morris. 

The  young  man  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  though  he 
were  doubtful  on  the  point,  then  added,  pointing  to  the 
boat : 

"  Homme  beaucoup  bless6,  pasteur  anglais." 

Morris  went  to  the  cutter,  and,  holding  up  the  lantern, 
looked  down,  to  find  an  oldish  man  with  sharp  features, 
dark  eyes,  and  grizzled  beard,  lying  under  a  tarpaulin  in 
the  bottom  of  the  boat  He  was  clothed  only  in  a  dressing- 
gown  and  a  blood-stained  nightshirt,  groaning  and  semi- 
unconscious. 


THE  SUNK  ROCKS  AND   THE  SINGER  93 

"Jambe  cass6,  beaucoup  mal  casse,"  explained  the 
French  scholar. 

"Apportez-le  vite  apres  moi,"  said  Morris.  This 
order  having  been  translated  by  the  youth,  several  stal- 
wart sailors  lifted  up  the  injured  man,  and,  placing  the 
tarpaulin  beneath  him,  took  hold  of  it  by  the  sides  and 
corners.  Then,  following  Morris,  they  bore  him  as 
gently  as  they  could  up  the  steps  into  the  Abbey  to  a 
large  bedroom  upon  the  first  floor,  where  they  laid  him 
upon  the  bed. 

Meanwhile,  by  the  industrious  ringing  of  bells  as 
they  went,  Morris  had  succeeded  in  rousing  a  groom, 
a  page-boy,  and  the  cook.  The  first  of  these  he  sent  off 
post  haste  for  Dr.  Charters.  Next,  having  directed  the 
cook  to  give  the  foreign  sailormen  some  food  and  beer, 
he  told  the  page-boy  to  conduct  them  to  the  Sailors' 
Home,  a  place  of  refuge  provided,  as  is  common  upon 
this  stormy  coast,  for  the  accommodation  of  distressed 
and  shipwrecked  mariners.  As  he  could  extract  nothing 
further,  it  seemed  useless  to  detain  them  at  the  Abbey. 
Then,  pending  the  arrival  of  the  doctor,  with  the  assist- 
ance of  the  old  housekeeper,  he  set  to  work  to  examine 
the  patient.  This  did  not  take  long,  for  his  injuries 
were  obvious.  The  right  thigh  was  broken  and  badly 
bruised,  and  he  bled  from  a  contusion  upon  the  forehead. 
This  wound  upon  his  head  seemed  also  to  have  affected 
his  brain ;  at  any  rate,  he  was  unable  to  speak  coherently, 
or  to  do  more  than  mutter  something  about  "shipwreck" 
and  "  steamer  Trondhjem,"  and  to  ask  for  water. 

Thinking  that  at  least  it  could  do  no  harm,  Morris 
gave  him  a  cup  of  soup,  which  had  been  hastily  pre- 
pared. Just  as  the  patient  had  finished  drinking  it, 


94  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

which  he  did  eagerly,  the  doctor  arrived,  and  after  a 
swift  examination  administered  some  anaesthetic,  and  got 
to  work  to  set  the  broken  limb. 

"  It's  a  bad  smash — very  bad,"  he  explained  to  Morris; 
"something  must  have  fallen  on  him,  I  think.  If  it  had 
been  an  inch  or  two  higher,  he'd  have  lost  his  leg,  or  his 
life,  or  both,  as  perhaps  he  will  now.  At  the  best  it 
means  a  couple  of  months  or  so  on  his  back.  No,  I 
think  the  cut  on  his  head  isn't  serious,  although  it  has 
knocked  him  silly  for  a  while." 

At  length  the  horrid  work  was  done,  and  the  doctor, 
who  had  to  return  to  a  confinement  case  in  the  village, 
departed.  Before  he  went  he  told  Morris  that  he  hoped 
to  be  back  by  five  o'clock.  He  promised  also  that  be- 
fore his  return  he  would  call  in  at  the  Sailors'  Home  to 
see  that  the  crew  were  comfortable,  and  discover  what 
he  could  of  the  details  of  the  catastrophe.  Meanwhile 
for  his  part,  Morris  undertook  to  watch  in  the  sick-room. 

For  nearly  three  hours,  while  the  drug  retained  its 
grip  of  him,  the  patient  remained  comatose.  All  this 
while  Morris  sat  at  his  bedside  wondering  who  he  might 
be,  and  what  curious  circumstance  could  have  brought 
him  into  the  company  of  these  rough  Northmen  sailors. 
To  his  profession  he  had  a  clue,  although  no  sure  one,  for 
round  his  neck  the  man  wore  a  silver  cross  suspended 
by  a  chain.  This  suggested  that  he  might  be  a  clergy- 
man, and  went  far  to  confirm  the  broken  talk  of  the 
French-speaking  sailor.  Clearly,  also,  he  was  a  person 
of  some  breeding  and  position,  the  refinement  of  his 
face  and  the  delicacy  of  his  hands  showed  as  much. 
While  Morris  was  watching  and  wondering,  suddenly  the 
man  awoke,  and  began  to  talk  in  a  confused  fashion. 


THE  SUNK  ROCKS  AND   THE  SINGER          95 

"  Where  am  I  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  At  Monksland,"  answered  Morris. 

"That's  all  right,  that's  where  I  should  be,  but  the 
ship,  the  ship"  —  then  a  pause  and  a  cry:  "Stella, 
Stella!" 

Morris  pricked  his  ears.  "  Where  is  Stella  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  On  the  rocks.  She  struck,  then  darkness,  all  dark- 
ness. Stella,  come  here,  Stella !  " 

A  memory  awoke  in  the  mind  of  Morris,  and  he  leant 
over  the  patient,  who  again  had  sunk  into  delirium. 

"  Do  you  mean  Stella  Fregelius  ? "  he  asked. 

The  man  turned  his  flushed  face  and  opened  his  dark 
eyes. 

"Of  course,  Stella  Fregelius — who  else?  There  is 
only  one  Stella,"  and  again  he  became  incoherent. 

For  a  while  Morris  plied  him  with  further  questions ; 
but  as  he  could  obtain  no  coherent  answer,  he  gave  him 
his  medicine  and  left  him  quiet.  Then  for  another 
half-hour  or  so  he  sat  and  watched,  while  a  certain  theory 
took  shape  in  his  mind.  This  gentleman  must  be  the 
new  rector.  It  seemed  as  though,  probably  accompanied 
by  his  daughter,  he  had  taken  passage  in  a  Danish  tramp 
boat  bound  for  Northwold,  which  had  touched  at  some 
Northumbrian  port.  Morris  knew  that  the  incoming 
clergyman  had  a  daughter,  for,  now  that  he  thought  of 
it  he  had  heard  Mr.  Tomley  mention  the  fact  at  the 
dinner-party  on  the  night  when  he  became  engaged. 
Yes,  and  certainly  she  was  named  Stella.  But  there 
was  no  woman  among  those  who  had  come  to  land,  and 
he  understood  the  injured  man  to  suggest  that  his  daugh- 
ter had  been  left  upon  the  steamer  which  was  said  to 


96  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

have  gone  ashore  upon  some  rocks ;  or,  perhaps,  upon 
the  Sunk  Rocks  themselves. 

Now,  the  only  rocks  within  twenty  miles  of  them  were 
these  famous  Sunk  Rocks,  about  six  knots  away.  Even 
within  his  own  lifetime  four  vessels  had  been  lost  there, 
either  because  they  had  missed,  or  mistaken,  the  light- 
ship signal  further  out  to  sea,  as  sometimes  happened 
in  a  fog  such  as  prevailed  this  night,  or  through  false 
reckonings.  The  fate  of  all  these  vessels  had  been 
identical ;  they  had  struck  upon  the  reef,  rebounded  or 
slid  off,  and  foundered  in  deep  water.  Probably  in  this 
case  the  same  thing  had  happened.  At  least,  the  facts,  so 
far  as  he  knew  them,  pointed  to  that  conclusion.  Evi- 
dently the  escape  of  the  crew  had  been  very  hurried, 
for  they  had  saved  nothing.  He  judged  also  that  the 
clergyman,  Mr.  Fregelius,  having  rushed  on  deck,  had 
been  injured  by  the  fall  of  some  spar  or  block  consequent 
upon  the  violence  of  the  impact  of  the  vessel  upon  the 
reef,  and  in  this  hurt  condition  had  been  thrown  into  the 
boat  by  the  sailors. 

Then  where  was  the  daughter  Stella  ?  Was  she  killed 
in  the  same  fashion  or  drowned  ?  Probably  one  or  the 
other.  But  there  was  a  third  bare  possibility,  which  did 
no  credit  to  the  crew,  that  she  had  been  forgotten  in  the 
panic  and  hurry,  and  left  behind  on  the  sinking  ship. 

At  first  Morris  thought  of  rousing  the  captain  of  the 
lifeboat.  On  reflection,  however,  he  abandoned  this 
idea,  for  really  what  had  he  to  go  on  beyond  the  scanty 
and  disjointed  ravings  of  a  delirious  man  ?  Very  pos- 
sibly the  girl  Stella  was  not  upon  the  ship  at  all.  Prob- 
ably, also,  hours  ago  that  vessel  had  vanished  from  the 
eyes  of  men  for  ever.  To  send  out  the  lifeboat  upon 


THE  SUNK  ROCKS  AND   THE  SINGER  97 

such  a  wild-goose  chase  would  be  to  turn  himself  into  a 
laughing-stock. 

Still  something  drew  his  thoughts  to  that  hidden  line 
of  reef,  and  the  ship  which  might  still  be  hanging  on  it, 
and  the  woman  who  might  still  be  living  in  the  ship. 

It  was  a  painful  vision  from  which  he  could  not  free 
his  mind. 

Then  there  came  to  him  an  idea.  Why  should  he  not 
go  to  the  Sunk  Rocks  and  look  ?  There  was  a  light 
breeze  off  land,  and  with  the  help  of  the  page-boy,  who 
was  sitting  up,  as  the  tide  was  nearing  its  full  he  could 
manage  to  launch  his  small  sailing-boat,  which  by  good 
fortune  was  still  berthed  near  the  beach  steps.  It  was 
a  curious  chance  that  this  should  be  so,  seeing  that  in 
most  seasons  she  would  have  been  by  now  removed  to 
the  shed  a  mile  away,  to  be  out  of  reach  of  possible  dam- 
age from  the  furious  winter  gales.  As  it  happened, 
however,  the  weather  remaining  so  open,  this  had  not 
been  done.  Further,  the  codlings  having  begun  to  run 
in  unusual  numbers,  as  is  common  upon  this  coast  in 
late  autumn,  Morris  that  very  morning  had  taken  the 
boat  out  to  fish  for  them,  an  amusement  which  he  pro- 
posed to  resume  on  the  morrow  in  the  hope  of  better 
sport.  Therefore  the  boat  had  her  sails  on  board,  and 
was  in  every  way  ready  for  sea. 

Why  should  he  not  go?  For  one  reason  only  that  he 
could  suggest.  There  was  a  certain  amount  of  risk  in 
sailing  about  the  Sunk  Rocks  in  a  fog,  even  for  a  tiny 
craft  like  his,  for  here  the  currents  were  very  sharp ;  also, 
in  many  places  the  points  of  the  rocks  were  only  just 
beneath  the  surface  of  the  water.  But  he  knew  the 
dangerous  places  well  enough  if  he  could  see  them, 


98  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

as  he  ought  to  be  able  to  do,  for  the  dawn  should  break 
before  he  arrived.  And,  after  all,  what  was  a  risk  more 
or  less  in  life  ?  He  would  go.  He  felt  impelled  — 
strangely  impelled  —  to  go,  though  of  course  it  was  all 
nonsense,  and  probably  he  would  be  back  by  nine 
o'clock,  having  seen  nothing  at  all. 

By  this  time  the  injured  Mr.  Fregelius  had  sunk  into 
sleep  or  stupor,  doubtless  beneath  the  influence  of  the 
second  draught  which  he  had  administered  to  him  in 
obedience  to  the  doctor's  orders.  On  his  account,  there- 
fore, Morris  had  no  anxiety,  since  the  cook,  a  steady, 
middle-aged  woman,  could  watch  by  him  for  the  present. 

He  called  her  and  gave  her  instructions,  bidding  her 
tell  the  doctor  when  he  came  that  he  had  gone  to  see  if 
he  could  make  out  anything  more  about  the  wreck,  and 
that  he  would  be  back  soon.  Then,  ordering  the  page- 
boy, a  stout  lad,  to  accompany  him,  he  descended  the 
steps,  and  together,  with  some  difficulty,  they  succeeded 
in  launching  the  boat.  Now  for  a  moment  Morris  hesi- 
tated, wondering  whether  he  should  take  the  young  man 
with  him ;  but  remembering  that  this  journey  was  not 
without  its  dangers,  finally  he  decided  to  go  alone. 

"  I  am  just  going  to  have  a  sail  round,  Thomas,  to 
look  if  I  can  make  out  anything  about  that  ship." 

"Yes,  sir,"  remarked  Thomas,  doubtfully.  "  But  it  is 
rather  a  queer  time  to  hunt  for  her,  and  in  this  sea-haze 
too,  especially  round  the  Sunk  Rocks.  Shall  I  leave  the 
lunch  basket  in  the  locker,  sir,  or  take  it  up  to  the 
house  ? " 

"  Leave  it ;  it  wasn't  touched  to-day,  and  I  might  be 
glad  of  some  breakfast,"  Morris  answered.  Then,  hav- 
ing hoisted  his  sail,  he  sat  himself  in  the  stern,  with  the 


THE  SUNK  ROCKS  AND   THE  SINGER  99 

tiller  in  one  hand  and  the  sheet  in  the  other.  Instantly 
the  water  began  to  lap  gently  against  the  bow,  and  in 
another  minute  he  glided  away  from  the  sight  of  the 
doubting  Thomas,  vanishing  like  some  sea-ghost  into 
the  haze  and  that  chill  darkness  which  precedes  the 
dawn. 

It  was  very  dark,  and  the  mist  was  very  damp,  and 
the  wind,  what  there  was  of  it,  very  cold,  especially  as 
in  his  hurry  he  had  forgotten  to  bring  a  thick  ulster, 
and  had  nothing  but  a  covert  coat  and  a  thin  oil-skin 
to  wear.  Moreover,  he  could  not  see  in  the  least  where 
he  was  going,  or  do  more  than  lay  his  course  for  the 
Sunk  Rocks  by  means  of  the  boat's  compass,  which  he 
consulted  from  time  to  time  by  the  help  of  a  bull's-eye 
lantern. 

This  went  on  for  nearly  an  hour,  by  the  end  of  which 
Morris  began  to  wonder  why  he  had  started  upon  such 
a  fool's  errand.  Also,  he  was  growing  alarmed.  He 
knew  that  by  now  he  should  be  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  the  reef,  and  fancied,  indeed,  that  he  could  hear  the 
water  lapping  against  its  rocks.  Accordingly,  as  this 
reef  was  ill  company  in  the  dark,  Morris  hauled  down 
his  sail,  and  in  case  he  should  have  reached  the  shallows, 
threw  out  his  little  anchor,  which  was  attached  to  six 
fathoms  of  chain.  At  first  it  swung  loose ;  but  four  or 
five  minutes  later,  the  boat  having  been  carried  onward 
into  fleeter  water  by  the  swift  current  that  was  one  of 
the  terrors  of  the  Sunk  Rocks,  it  touched  bottom, 
dragged  a  little,  and  held  fast. 

Morris  gave  a  sigh  of  relief,  for  that  blind  journey 
among  unknown  dangers  was  neither  safe  nor  pleasant. 
Now,  at  least,  in  this  quiet  weather  he  could  lie  where 


100  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

he  was  till  the  light  came,  praying  that  a  wind  might 
not  come  first.  Already  the  cold  November  dawn  was 
breaking  in  the  east ;  he  was  able  to  see  the  reflection 
of  it  upon  the  fog,  and  the  surface  of  the  water,  black 
and  oily-looking,  became  visible  as  it  swept  past  the 
sides  of  his  boat.  Now,  too,  he  was  sure  that  the  rocks 
must  be  close  at  hand,  for  he  could  hear  the  running 
tide  distinctly  as  it  washed  against  them  and  through 
the  dense  growth  of  seaweed  that  clung  to  their  crests 
and  ridges. 

Presently,  too,  he  heard  something  else,  which  at  first 
caused  him  to  rub  his  eyes  in  the  belief  that  he  must 
have  fallen  asleep  and  dreamt ;  nothing  less,  indeed,  than 
the  sound  of  a  woman's  voice.  He  began  to  reason 
with  himself.  What  was  there  strange  in  this  ?  He 
was  told,  or  had  inferred,  that  a  woman  had  been  left 
upon  a  ship.  Doubtless  this  was  she,  upon  some  rock 
or  raft,  perhaps.  Only  then  she  would  have  been  crying 
for  help,  and  this  voice  was  singing,  and  in  a  strange 
tongue,  more  sweetly  than  he  had  heard  woman  sing 
before. 

It  was  incredible,  it  was  impossible.  What  woman 
would  sing  in  a  winter  daybreak  upon  the  Sunk  Rocks  — 
sing  like  the  siren  of  old  fable  ?  Yet,  there,  quite  close 
to  him,  over  the  quiet  sea  rose  the  song,  strong,  clear, 
and  thrilling.  Once  it  ceased,  then  began  again  in  a 
deeper,  more  triumphant  note,  such  a  chant  as  a 
Valkyrie  might  have  sung  as  she  led  some  Norn-doomed 
host  to  their  last  battle. 

Morris  sat  and  listened  with  parted  lips  and  eyes 
staring  at  the  fleecy  mist.  He  did  not  move  or  call  out, 
because  he  was  certain  that  he  must  be  the  victim  of 


THE  SUNK  ROCKS  AND   THE  SINGER         IOI 

some  hallucination,  bred  of  fog,  or  of  fatigue,  or  of  cold ; 
and,  as  it  was  very  strange  and  moving,  he  had  no  desire 
to  break  in  upon  its  charm. 

So  there  he  sat  while  the  triumphant,  splendid  song 
rolled  and  thrilled  above  him,  and  by  degrees  the  grey 
light  of  morning  grew  to  right  and  left.  To  right  and 
left  it  grew,  but,  strangely  enough,  although  he  never 
noted  it  at  the  time,  he  and  his  boat  lay  still  steeped  in 
shadow.  Then  of  a  sudden  there  was  a  change. 

A  puff  of  wind  from  the  north  seemed  to  catch  the  fog 
and  roll  it  up  like  a  curtain,  so  that  instantly  all  the  sea 
became  visible,  broken  here  and  there  by  round-headed, 
weed-draped  rocks.  Out  of  the  east  also  poured  a  flood 
of  light  from  the  huge  ball  of  the  rising  sun,  and  now  it 
was  that  Morris  learned  why  the  gloom  had  been  so 
thick  about  him,  for  his  boat  lay  anchored  full  in  the 
shadow  of  the  lost  ship  Trondhjem.  There,  not  thirty 
yards  away,  rose  her  great  prow;  the  cutwater,  which 
stood  up  almost  clear,  showing  that  she  had  forced  her- 
self on  to  a  ridge  of  rock.  There,  too,  poised  at  the 
extreme  point  of  the  sloping  forecastle,  and  supporting 
herself  with  one  hand  by  a  wire  rope  that  ran  thence  to 
the  foremast,  was  the  woman  to  whose  siren-like  song 
he  had  been  listening. 

At  that  distance  he  could  see  little  of  her  face ;  but  the 
new-wakened  wind  blew  the  long  dark  hair  about  her 
head,  while  round  her,  falling  almost  to  her  naked  feet, 
was  wrapped  a  full  red  cloak.  Had  Morris  wished  to 
draw  the  picture  of  a  viking's  daughter  guiding  her 
father's  ship  into  the  fray,  there,  down  to  the  red 
cloak,  bare  feet,  and  flying  tresses,  stood  its  perfect 
model. 


102  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

The  wild  scene  gripped  his  heart.  Whoever  saw  the 
like  of  it  ?  This  girl  who  sang  in  the  teeth  of  death,  the 
desolate  grey  face  of  ocean,  the  brown  and  hungry 
rocks,  the  huge,  abandoned  ship,  and  over  all  the  angry 
rays  of  a  winter  sunrise. 

Thus,  out  of  the  darkness  of  the  winter  night,  out  of 
the  bewildering  white  mists  of  the  morning,  did  this 
woman  arise  upon  his  sight,  this  strange  new  star  begin 
to  shine  upon  his  life  and  direct  his  destiny. 

At  the  moment  that  he  saw  her  she  seemed  to  see  him. 
At  any  rate,  she  ceased  her  ringing,  defiant  song,  and, 
leaning  over  the  netting  rail,  stared  downwards. 

Morris  began  to  haul  at  his  anchor ;  but,  though  he  was 
a  strong  man,  at  first  he  could  not  lift  it.  Just  as  he 
was  thinking  of  slipping  the  cable,  however,  the  little 
flukes  came  loose  from  the  sand  or  weeds  in  which  they 
were  embedded,  and  with  toil  and  trouble  he  got  it 
shipped.  Then  he  took  a  pair  of  sculls  and  rowed  until 
he  was  nearly  under  the  prow  of  the  Trondhjem.  It 
was  he,  too,  who  spoke  first. 

"  You  must  come  to  me,"  he  called. 

"  Yes,"  the  woman  answered,  leaning  over  the  rail ;  "  I 
will  come,  but  how  ?  Shall  I  jump  into  the  water  ? " 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  it  is  too  dangerous.  You  might  strike 
against  a  rock  or  be  taken  by  the  current.  The  com- 
panion ladder  seems  to  be  down  on  the  starboard  side. 
Go  aft  to  it,  I  will  row  round  the  ship  and  meet  you  there." 

She  nodded  her  head,  and  Morris  started  on  his  jour- 
ney. It  proved  perilous.  To  begin  with,  there  were 
rocks  all  about.  Also,  here  the  tide  or  the  current,  or 
both,  ran  with  the  speed  of  a  mill-race,  so  that  in  places 
the  sea  bubbled  and  swirled  like  a  boiling  kettle.  How- 


THE  SUNK  ROCKS  AND   THE  SINGER         103 

ever  skilled  and  strong  he  might  be,  it  was  hard  for  one 
man  to  deal  with  such  difficulties  and  escape  disaster. 
Still  following  the  port  side  of  the  ship,  since  owing  to 
the  presence  of  certain  rocks  he  dared  not  attempt  the 
direct  starboard  passage,  he  came  at  last  to  her  stern. 
Then  he  saw  how  imminent  was  the  danger,  for  the 
poop  of  the  vessel,  which  seemed  to  be  of  about  a  thou- 
sand tons  burden,  was  awash  and  water-logged,  but  roll- 
ing and  lifting  beneath  the  pressure  of  the  tide  as  it 
drew  on  to  flood. 

To  Morris,  who  had  lived  all  his  life  by  the  sea,  and 
understood  such  matters,  it  was  plain  that  presently  she 
would  float,  or  be  torn  off  the  point  of  the  rock  on  which 
she  hung,  broken-backed,  and  sink  in  the  hundred-fathom- 
deep  water  which  lay  beyond  the  reef.  There  was  no 
time  to  spare,  and  he  laboured  at  his  oars  fiercely,  till  at 
length,  partly  by  skill  and  partly  by  good  fortune,  he 
reached  the  companion  ladder  and  fastened  to  it  with 
a  boat-hook. 

Now  no  woman  was  to  be  seen  ;  she  had  vanished. 
Morris  called  and  called,  but  could  get  no  answer,  while 
the  great  dead  carcass  of  the  ship  rolled  and  laboured 
above,  its  towering  mass  of  iron  threatening  to  fall  and 
crush  him  and  his  tiny  craft  to  nothingness.  He  shouted 
and  shouted  again ;  then  in  despair  lashed  his  boat  to  the 
companion,  and  ran  up  the  ladder. 

Where  could  she  have  gone  ?  He  hurried  forward 
along  the  heaving,  jerking  deck  to  the  main  hatchway. 
Here  he  hesitated  for  a  moment ;  then,  knowing  that,  if 
anywhere,  she  must  be  below,  set  his  teeth  and  descended. 
The  saloon  was  a  foot  deep  in  water,  which  washed  from 
side  to  side  with  a  heavy,  sickening  splash,  and  there, 


104  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

carrying  a  bag  in  one  hand,  holding  up  her  garments 
with  the  other,  and  wading  toward  him  from  the  dry 
upper  part  of  the  cabin,  at  last  he  found  the  lady  whom 
he  sought. 

"  Be  quick !  "  he  shouted ;  "  for  God's  sake,  be  quick  ! 
The  ship  is  coming  off  the  rock." 

She  splashed  towards  him ;  now  he  had  her  by  the 
hand ;  now  they  were  on  the  deck,  and  now  he  was 
dragging  her  after  him  down  the  companion  ladder. 
They  reached  the  boat,  and  just  as  the  vessel  gave  a 
great  roll  towards  them,  Morris  seized  the  oars  and  rowed 
like  a  madman. 

"  Help  me  !  "  he  gasped ;  "  the  current  is  against  us." 
And,  sitting  opposite  to  him,  she  placed  her  hands  upon 
his  hands,  pressing  forward  as  he  pulled.  Her  slight 
strength  made  a  difference,  and  the  boat  forged  ahead 
—  thirty,  forty,  seventy  yards  —  till  they  reached  a  rock 
to  which,  exhausted,  he  grappled  with  a  hook.bidding  her 
hold  on  to  the  floating  seaweed.  Thus  they  rested  for 
thirty  seconds,  perhaps,  when  she  spoke  for  the  first  time : 

"  Look !  "  she  said. 

As  she  spoke  the  steamer  slid  and  lifted  off  the  reef. 
For  a  few  moments  she  wallowed ;  then  suddenly  her 
stern  settled,  her  prow  rose  slowly  in  the  air  till  it  stood 
up  straight,  fifty  or  sixty  feet  of  it.  Then,  with  a  ma- 
jestic, but  hideous  rush,  down  went  the  Trondhjem  and 
vanished  for  ever. 

All  round  about  her  the  sea  boiled  and  foamed,  while  in 
the  great  hollow  which  she  made  on  the  face  of  the  waters 
black  lumps  of  wreckage  appeared  and  disappeared. 

"  Tight !  hold  tight !  "  he  cried,  "  or  she  will  suck  us 
after  her." 


THE  SUNK  ROCKS  AND   THE  SINGER         105 

Suck  she  did,  till  the  water  poured  over  the  gunwale. 
Then,  the  worst  passed,  and  the  boat  rose  again.  The 
foam  bubbles  burst  or  floated  away  in  little  snowy 
heaps ;  the  sea  resumed  its  level,  and,  save  for  the  float- 
ing debris,  became  as  it  had  been  for  thousands  of 
years  before  the  lost  Trondhjem  rushed  downward  to 
its  depths. 

Now,  for  the  first  time,  knowing  the  immediate  peril 
past,  Morris  looked  at  the  face  of  his  companion.  It 
was  a  fine  face,  and  beautiful  in  its  way.  Dark  eyes, 
very  large  and  perfect,  whereof  the  pupils  seemed  to 
expand  and  contract  in  answer  to  every  impulse  of  the 
thoughts  within.  Above  the  eyes  long  curving  lashes 
and  delicately  pencilled,  arched  eyebrows,  and  above 
them  again  a  forehead  low  and  broad.  The  chin 
rounded ;  the  lips  full,  rich,  and  sensitive ;  the  com- 
plexion of  a  clear  and  beautiful  pallor ;  the  ears  tiny  ; 
the  hands  delicate ;  the  figure  slim,  of  medium  height, 
and  alive  with  grace ;  the  general  effect  most  uncommon, 
and,  without  being  lovely,  breathing  a  curious  power  and 
personality. 

Such  was  the  woman  whom  he  had  saved  from 
death. 

"Oh,  how  splendid ! "  she  said  in  her  deep  voice,  and 
clasping  her  hands.  "  What  a  death  !  For  ship  or  man, 
what  a  death  !  And  after  it  the  great  calm  sea,  taking 
and  ready  to  take  for  ever." 

"  Thank  Heaven  that  it  did  not  take  you,"  answered 
Morris  wrathfully. 

"  Why  ?  "  she  answered 

"  Because  you  are  still  alive,  who  by  now  would  have 
been  dead." 


106  STELLA   F REG  ELI  US 

"  It  seems  that  it  was  not  fated  this  time,"  she 
answered,  adding :  "  The  next  it  may  be  different." 

"Yes,"  he  said  reflectively;  "the  next  it  may  be 
different,  Miss  Fregelius." 

She  started.  "  How  do  you  know  my  name  ? "  she 
asked. 

"  From  your  father's  lips.  He  is  ashore  at  my  house. 
The  sailors  must  have  seen  the  light  in  my  workshop 
and  steered  for  it." 

"  My  father  ?  "  she  gasped.  "  He  is  still  alive  ?  But, 
oh,  how  is  that  possible  ?  He  would  never  have  left 
me." 

"  Yes,  he  lives,  but  with  a  broken  thigh  and  his  head 
cut  open.  He  was  brought  ashore  senseless,  so  you 
need  not  be  ashamed  of  him.  Those  sailors  are  the 
cowards." 

She  sighed,  as  though  in  deep  relief.  "  I  am  very 
glad.  I  had  made  up  my  mind  that  he  must  be  dead, 
for  of  course  I  knew  that  he  would  never  have  left  me 
otherwise.  It  did  not  occur  to  me  that  he  might  be 
carried  away  senseless.  Is  he  —  "  and  she  paused,  then 
added  :  "  tell  me  the  worst  —  quick." 

"No;  the  doctor  thinks  in  no  danger  at  present; 
only  a  break  of  the  thigh  and  a  scalp  wound.  Of 
course,  he  could  not  help  himself,  for  he  can  have 
known  no  more  than  a  corpse  of  what  was  passing,"  he 
went  on.  "It  is  those  sailors  who  are  to  blame — for 
leaving  you  on  the  ship,  I  mean." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  contemptuously. 

"The  sailors!  From  such  rough  men  one  does  not 
expect  much.  They  had  little  time,  and  thought  of  them- 
selves, not  of  a  passenger,  whom  they  had  scarcely  seen. 


THE  SUNK  ROCKS  AND   THE  SINGER         IO? 

Thank  God  they  did  not  leave  my  father  behind 
also." 

"You  do  not  thank  God  for  yourself,"  said  Morris 
curiously,  as  he  prepared  to  hoist  the  sail,  for  his  mind 
harked  back  to  his  old  wonderment. 

"  Yes,  I  do,  but  it  was  not  His  will  that  I  should  die 
last  night.  I  have  told  you  that  it  was  not  fated,"  she 
answered. 

"  Quite  so.  That  is  evident  now ;  but  were  I  in  your 
case  this  really  remarkable  escape  would  make  me 
wonder  what  is  fated." 

"  Yes,  it  does  a  little ;  but  not  too  much,  for  you  see  I 
shall  learn  in  time.  You  might  as  well  wonder  how  it 
happened  that  you  arrived  to  save  me,  and  to  what  end." 

Morris  hesitated,  for  this  was  a  new  view  of  the  case, 
before  he  answered. 

"That  your  life  should  be  saved,  I  suppose." 

"And  why  should  it  happen  that  your  boat  should 
come  to  save  me  ? " 

"  I  don't  know ;  chance,  I  suppose." 

"  Neither  do  I ;  but  I  don't  believe  in  chance.  Every- 
thing has  its  meaning  and  purpose." 

"  Only  one  so  seldom  finds  it  out.  Life  is  too  short, 
I  suppose,"  replied  Morris. 

By  now  the  sail  was  up,  the  boat  was  drawing 
ahead,  and  he  was  seated  at  her  side  holding  the  tiller. 

"Why  did  you  go  down  into  the  saloon,  Miss 
Fregelius?"  he  asked  presently. 

She  glanced  at  herself,  and  now,  for  the  first  time,  he 
noticed  that  she  wore  a  dress  beneath  her  red  cloak,  and 
that  there  were  slippers  on  her  feet,  which  had  been 
bare. 


108  STELLA  FREGEHUS 

"  I  could  not  come  into  the  boat  as  I  was,"  she  ex- 
plained, dropping  her  eyes.  "The  costume  which  is 
good  enough  to  be  drowned  in  is  not  fitted  for  company. 
My  cabin  was  well  forward,  and  I  guessed  that  by  wad- 
ing I  could  reach  it.  Also,  I  had  some  trinkets  and  one 
or  two  books  I  did  not  wish  to  lose,"  and  she  nodded 
at  the  hand-bag  which  she  had  thrown  into  the  boat. 

Morris  smiled.  "  It  is  very  nice  of  you  to  pay  so 
much  respect  to  appearances,"  he  said ;  "but  I  suppose 
you  forgot  that  the  vessel  might  come  off  the  rocks  at 
any  moment  and  crush  me,  who  was  waiting." 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  answered ;  "  I  thought  of  it.  I  have 
always  been  accustomed  to  the  sea,  and  know  about 
such  things." 

"  And  still  you  went  for  your  dress  and  your  trinkets  ? " 

"  Yes,  because  I  was  certain  that  it  wouldn't  happen 
and  that  no  harm  would  come  to  either  of  us  by  waiting 
a  few  minutes." 

"  Indeed,  and  who  told  you  that  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,  but  from  the  moment  that  I  saw  you 
in  the  boat  I  was  certain  that  the  danger  was  done  with 
—  at  least,  the  immediate  danger,"  she  added. 


CHAPTER   IX 

Miss  FREGELIUS 

WHILE  Miss  Fregelius  was  speaking,  Morris  had  been 
staring  at  the  sail,  which,  after  drawing  for  a  time  in  an 
indifferent  fashion,  had  begun  to  flap  aimlessly. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? "  asked  his  companion.  "  Has 
the  wind  veered  again  ?  " 

He  nodded.  "  Dead  from  the  west,  now,  and  rising 
fast.  I  hope  that  your  spirit  of  prophecy  still  speaks 
smooth  things,  for,  upon  my  word,  I  believe  we  are 
both  of  us  in  a  worse  mess  than  ever." 

"  Can't  we  row  ashore  ?     It  is  only  a  few  miles,  is  it  ? " 

"  We  can  try,  but  I  am  afraid  we  are  in  for  a  regular 
tearer.  We  get  them  sometimes  on  this  coast  after  a 
spell  of  calm  weather." 

"  Please  give  me  an  oar,"  she  said.  "  I  am  used  to 
rowing — of  a  sort." 

So  he  let  down  the  sail,  and  they  began  to  row.  For 
ten  minutes  or  so  they  struggled  against  the  ever-rising 
gale.  Then  Morris  called  to  her  to  ship  oars. 

"  It  is  no  use  exhausting  ourselves,  Miss  Fregelius," 
he  said,  "for  now  the  tide  is  on  the  ebb,  and  dead 
against  us,  as  well  as  the  wind." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  she  asked. 

Morris  glanced  back  to  where  a  mile  behind  them  the 
sea  was  beginning  to  foam  ominously  over  the  Sunk 

109 


1 10  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

Rocks,  here  and  there  throwing  up  isolated  jets  of  spray, 
like  those  caused  by  the  blowing  of  a  whale. 

"  I  am  going  to  try  to  clear  them,"  he  said,  "  and 
then  run  before  it.  Perhaps  we  might  make  the  Far 
Lightship  five  and  twenty  miles  away.  Help  me  to  pull 
up  the  sail.  So,  that's  enough  ;  she  can't  stand  too 
much.  Now  hold  the  sheet,  and  if  I  bid  you,  let  go 
that  instant.  I'll  steer." 

A  few  seconds  later  the  boat's  head  had  come  round, 
and  she  was  rushing  through  the  water  at  great  speed, 
parallel  with  the  line  of  the  Sunk  Rocks,  but  being 
momentarily  driven  nearer  to  them.  The  girl,  Stella 
Fregelius,  stared  at  the  farthest  point  of  foam  which 
marked  the  end  of  the  reef. 

"  You  must  hold  her  up  if  you  want  to  clear  it,"  she 
said  quietly. 

"  I  can't  do  any  more  in  this  wind,"  he  answered. 
"  You  seem  to  know  about  boats ;  you  will  understand." 

She  nodded,  and  on  they  rushed,  the  ever-freshening 
gale  on  their  beam. 

"This  boat  sails  well,"  said  Stella,  as  a  little  water 
trickled  over  the  gunwale. 

Morris  made  no  answer,  his  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
the  point  of  rock;  only  bidding  his  companion  hold 
the  tiller,  he  did  something  to  the  sail.  Now  they 
were  not  more  than  five  hundred  yards  away. 

"  It  will  be  a  very  near  thing,"  she  said. 

"  Very,"  he  answered,  "  and  I  don't  want  to  be  offi- 
cious, but  I  suggest  that  you  might  do  well  to  say 
your  prayers." 

She  looked  at  him,  and  bowed  her  head  for  a  minute 
or  so.  Then  suddenly  she  lifted  it  again  and  stared 


MISS  FREGELIUS  III 

at  the  terror  ahead  of  them  with  wide,  unflinching 
eyes. 

On  sped  the  boat  while  more  and  more  did  tide  and 
gale  turn  her  prow  into  the  reef.  At  the  end  of  it  a 
large,  humpbacked  rock  showed  now  and  again  through 
the  surf,  like  the  fin  of  a  black  whale.  That  was  the 
rock  which  they  must  clear  if  they  would  live.  Morris 
took  the  boat-hook  and  laid  it  by  his  side.  They  were 
very  near  now.  They  would  clear  it;  no,  the  wash 
sucked  them  in  like  a  magnet. 

"Good-bye,"  said  Morris  instinctively,  but  Stella 
answered  nothing. 

The  wave  that  lifted  them  broke  upon  the  rock  in 
a  cloud  of  spray  wherein  for  some  few  instants  their 
boat  seemed  to  vanish.  They  were  against  it;  the 
boat  touched,  and  Stella  felt  a  long  ribbon  of  seaweed 
cut  her  like  a  whip  across  the  face.  Kneeling  down, 
Morris  thrust  madly  with  the  boat-hook,  and  thus  for 
an  instant  —  just  one  —  held  her  off.  His  arms  doubled 
beneath  the  strain,  and  then  came  the  back-wash. 

Oh,  heavens !  it  had  swept  them  clear.  The  rock 
was  behind,  the  sail  drew,  and  swiftly  they  fled  away 
from  the  death  that  had  seemed  certain. 

Stella  sighed  aloud,  while  Morris  wiped  the  water 
from  his  face. 

"Are  we  clear?"  she  asked  presently. 

"  Of  the  Sunk  Rocks  ?  Yes,  we  are  round  them. 
But  the  North  Sea  is  in  front  of  us,  and  what  looks 
like  the  worst  gale  that  has  blown  this  autumn  is  rising 
behind." 

"This  is  a  good  sea-boat,  and  on  the  open  water  I 
think  perhaps  that  we  ought  to  weather  it,"  she  said, 


112  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

trying  to  speak  cheerfully,  as  Morris  stowed  the  sail, 
for  in  that  wind  they  wanted  no  canvas. 

"  I  wish  we  had  something  to  eat,"  she  added  presently ; 
"I  am  so  hungry." 

"  By  good  luck  I  can  help  you  there,"  he  answered. 
"Yesterday  I  was  out  fishing  and  took  lunch  for 
myself  and  the  boatman ;  but  the  fish  wouldn't  bite,  so 
we  came  back  without  eating  it,  and  it  is  still  in  the 
locker.  Shift  a  little,  please,  and  I  will  get  the 
basket." 

She  obeyed,  and  there  was  the  food  sure  enough, 
plenty  of  it.  A  thick  packet  of  sandwiches,  and  two 
boiled  eggs,  a  loaf,  and  a  large  lump  of  cheese  for  the 
boatman,  a  flask  of  whiskey,  a  bottle  of  beer,  another  of 
water,  and  two  of  soda.  They  ate  up  the  sandwiches 
and  the  eggs,  Morris  drinking  the  beer  and  Stella  the 
soda  water,  for  whiskey  as  yet  she  would  not  touch. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  "we  are  still  provisioned  for  twenty- 
four  hours  with  the  bread  and  cheese,  the  water  and 
the  soda  which  is  left." 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "if  we  don't  sink  or  die  of 
cold  we  shall  not  starve.  I  never  thought  that  sand- 
wiches were  so  good  before ; "  and  he  looked  hungrily 
at  the  loaf. 

"  You  had  better  put  it  away ;  you  may  want  it  later," 
she  suggested.  And  he  put  it  away. 

"  Tell  me,  if  you  don't  mind,"  he  asked,  for  the  food 
and  the  lightening  of  the  strain  upon  his  nerves  had 
made  him  conversational,  "  what  is  that  song  which  you 
sang  upon  the  ship,  and  why  did  you  sing  it  ? " 

She  coloured  a  little,  and  smiled,  a  sweet  smile  that 
seemed  to  begin  in  her  eyes. 


MISS  F REG  ELI  US  113 

"  It  is  an  old  Norse  chant  which  my  mother  taught 
me;  she  was  a  Dane,  as  my  father  is  also  by  descent. 
It  has  come  down  in  her  family  for  many,  many  genera- 
tions, and  the  legend  is  that  the  women  of  her  race 
always  sang  it  or  repeated  it  while  the  men  were  fight- 
ing, and,  if  they  had  the  strength,  in  the  hour  of  their 
own  death.  I  believe  that  is  true,  for  she  died  whisper- 
ing it  herself ;  yes,  it  grew  fainter  and  fainter  until  it 
ceased  with  her  breath.  So,  when  I  thought  that  my 
hour  had  come,  I  sang  it  also,  for  the  first  time,  for  I 
tried  to  be  brave,  and  wished  to  go  as  my  forebears 
went.  It  is  a  foolish  old  custom,  but  I  like  old  customs. 
I  am  ashamed  that  you  should  have  heard  it.  I  thought 
myself  alone.  That  is  all." 

"You  are  a  very  strange  young  lady,"  said  Morris, 
staring  at  her. 

"  Strange  ? "  she  answered,  laughing.  "  Not  at  all ; 
only  I  wanted  to  show  those  scores  of  dead  people  that 
their  traditions  and  spirit  still  lived  on  in  me,  their  poor 
modern  child.  Think  how  glad  they  must  have  been  to 
hear  the  old  chant  as  they  swept  by  in  the  wind  just 
now,  waiting  to  give  me  welcome." 

Morris  stared  still  harder.  Was  this  beautiful  girl 
mad  ?  He  knew  something  of  the  old  Norse  literature 
and  myths.  A  fantastic  vision  rose  up  in  his  mind  of 
her  forebears,  scores  and  hundreds  of  them  gathered  at 
some  ghostly  Walhalla  feast,  listening  to  the  familiar 
paean  as  it  poured  from  her  fearless  heart,  and  waiting 
to  rise  and  greet  her,  the  last  newcomer  of  their  blood, 
with  "  Skoll,  daughter,  skoll !  " 

She  watched  him  as  though  she  read  his  thought. 

"  You  see,  they  would  have  been  pleased ;  it  is  only 


114  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

natural,"  she  said ;  "  and  I  have  a  great  respect  for 
the  opinion  of  my  ancestors." 

"Then  you  are  sure  they  still  exist  in  some  shape 
or  form,  and  are  conscious  ? " 

She  laughed  again.  "  Of  course  I  am  sure.  The 
world  of  spirits,  as  I  think,  is  the  real  world.  The  rest 
is  a  nightmare;  at  least,  it  seems  like  a  nightmare, 
because  we  don't  know  the  beginning  or  the  end  of 
the  dream." 

"The  old  Egyptians  thought  something  like  that," 
said  Morris  reflectively.  "They  only  lived  to  die." 

"  But  we,"  she  answered,  "  should  only  die  to  live, 
and  that  is  why  I  try  not  to  be  afraid.  I  daresay,  how- 
ever, I  mean  the  same  as  they  did,  only  you  do  not  seem 
to  put  their  thought  quite  clearly." 

"  You  are  right;  I  meant  that  for  them  death  was  but 
a  door." 

"  That  is  better,  I  think,"  she  said.  "  That  was  their 
thought,  and  that  is  my  thought ;  and,"  she  added, 
searching  his  face,  "  perhaps  your  thought  also." 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  though  somehow  you  concen- 
trate it ;  I  have  never  seen  things,  or,  rather,  this  thing, 
quite  so  sharply." 

"Because  you  have  never  been  in  a  position  to  see 
them;  they  have  not  been  brought  home  to  you.  Or  your 
mind  may  have  wanted  an  interpreter.  Perhaps  I  am 
that  interpreter  —  for  the  moment."  Then  she  added: 
"  Were  you  afraid  just  now  ?  Don't  tell  me  if  you  had 
rather  not,  only  I  should  like  to  compare  sensations.  I 
was  —  more  than  on  the  ship.  I  admit  it." 

"  No,"  he  answered ;  "  I  suppose  that  I  was  too 
excited." 


MISS  FREGELIUS  115 

"  What  were  you  thinking  of  when  we  bumped  against 
the  rocks  ?  "  she  asked  again. 

"  Well,  now  that  you  mention  it,"  he  replied,  rubbing 
his  forehead  with  his  left  hand  like  a  man  newly 
awakened,  "  I  could  think  of  nothing  but  that  song  of 
yours,  which  you  sung  upon  the  vessel.  Everything 
grew  dark  for  an  instant,  and  through  the  darkness  I 
remembered  the  song." 

"  Are  you  married  ? "  she  asked,  as  though  speaking 
to  herself. 

"  No ;  I  am  engaged." 

"Then,  why "  and  she  stopped,  confused. 

Morris  guessed  what  had  been  in  her  mind,  and  of  a 
sudden  felt  terribly  ashamed. 

"  Because  of  that  witch-song  of  yours,"  he  answered, 
with  a  flash  of  anger,  "  which  made  me  forget  every- 
thing." 

She  smiled  and  answered.  "It  wasn't  the  song;  it 
was  the  excitement  and  struggle  which  blotted  out  the 
rest.  One  does  not  really  think  at  all  at  such  moments, 
or  so  I  believe.  I  know  that  I  didn't,  not  just  when  we 
bumped  against  the  rock.  But  it  is  odd  that  you  should 
believe  that  you  remembered  my  song,  for,  according  to 
tradition,  that  is  just  what  the  chant  should  do,  and  what 
it  always  did.  Its  ancient  name  means  'The  Over- 
Lord,'  because  those  who  sang  it  and  those  who  heard 
it  were  said  to  remember  nothing  else,  and  to  fear  noth- 
ing, not  even  Death  our  lord.  It  is  the  welcome  that 
they  give  to  death." 

"What  egregious  nonsense  !  "  he  blurted  out. 

"  I  daresay ;  but  then,  why  do  you  understand  my 
nonsense  so  well?  Tell  me,  if  you  will,  of  what  blood 
are  you  ? " 


Il6  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

"  Danish,  I  believe,  in  the  beginning." 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  laughing,  "  no  doubt  that  accounts 
for  it.  Some  forefather  of  yours  may  have  heard  the 
song  of  the  Over-Lord,  perhaps  from  the  lips  of  some 
foremother  of  mine.  So,  of  course,  you  remembered 
and  understood." 

"  Such  a  thing  will  scarcely  bear  argument,  will 
it  ? " 

"  Of  course  it  won't.  I  have  only  been  joking  all  the 
time,  though  I  do  half  believe  in  this  old  song,  as  my 
ancestors  did  before  me.  I  mean,  that  as  I  thought  I 
had  to  die,  I  liked  to  keep  up  the  ancient  custom  and 
sing  it  first.  It  encouraged  my  spirits.  But  where  are 
we  going  ? " 

"  To  where  our  spirits  will  need  no  more  encourage- 
ment," he  answered  grimly ;  "  or,  at  least,  I  fear  it  may 
be  so.  Miss  Fregelius,  to  drop  jests,  it  is  blowing  very 
hard  off  land ;  the  sea  is  getting  up,  and  this  is  but  a 
small  boat.  We  are  doing  pretty  well  now,  but  sooner 
or  later,  I  fear,  and  I  think  it  right  to  tell  you,  that  a 
wave  may  poop  us  and  then " 

"There  will  be  an  end,"  said  Stella.  "Is  there  any- 
thing to  be  done  ?  Have  you  any  plan  ? " 

"  None,  except  to  make  the  Far  Lightship,  as  I  told 
you ;  but  even  if  we  succeed,  I  don't  know  whether  it 
will  be  possible  to  get  aboard  of  her  unless  the  sea 
moderates." 

"  Won't  the  lifeboat  come  out  to  look  for  you  ? "  she 
asked. 

He  shook  his  head.  "  How  could  they  find  one  tiny 
sail  upon  the  great  ocean  ?  Moreover,  it  will  be  sup- 
posed either  that  I  have  foundered  or  made  some  port 


MISS  FREGELIUS  117 

along  the  coast.  There  is  the  worst  of  it.  I  fear  that 
it  may  be  telegraphed  everywhere,"  and  he  sighed 
deeply. 

"  Why  ?  "  she  asked.  "Are  you  a  very  important  per- 
son that  they  should  bother  to  do  that  ?  You  see,"  she 
added  in  explanation,  "  I  don't  even  know  your  name  or 
where  you  come  from,  only  that  you  told  me  you  worked 
in  a  shop  which,"  she  added  reflectively,  looking  at 
him,  "seems  odd." 

Even  then  and  there  Morris  could  not  help  a  smile ; 
really  this  young  lady  was  very  original. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  I  am  not  at  all  important,  and  I 
work  in  a  shop  because  I  am  an  inventor  —  or  try  to  be 
—  in  the  electrical  line.  My  name  is  Morris  Monk,  and 
I  am  the  son  of  Colonel  Monk,  and  live  at  the  Abbey 
House,  Monksland.  Now  you  know  all  about  me." 

"  Oh !  of  course  I  do,  Mr.  Monk,"  she  said  in  some 
confusion,  "  how  foolish  of  me  not  to  guess.  You  are 
my  father's  principal  new  parishioner,  of  whom  Mr. 
Tomley  gave  us  a  full  description." 

"  Did  he  indeed  ?  What  did  he  say  ? "  he  asked 
idly. 

"  Do  you  really  want  to  know,  Mr.  Monk  ? " 

"Yes,  if  it  is  amusing.  Just  now  I  shall  be  grateful 
for  anything  that  can  divert  my  thoughts." 

"And  will  you  promise  not  to  bear  malice  against 
Mr.  Tomley?" 

"Certainly,  especially  as  he  has  gone  away,  and  I 
don't  expect  to  see  him  any  more." 

"  Well,  he  described  your  father,  Colonel  Monk,  as  a 
handsome  and  distinguished  elderly  gentleman  of  very 
good  birth,  and  manners,  too,  when  he  chose,  who  in- 


Il8  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

tensely  disliked  growing  old.  He  said  that  he  thought 
of  himself  more  than  of  anybody  else  in  the  world,  and 
next  of  the  welfare  of  his  family,  and  that  if  we  wished 
to  get  on  with  him  we  must  be  careful  not  to  offend  his 
dignity,  as  then  he  would  be  quarrelsome." 

"That's  true  enough,  or  most  of  it,"  answered  Morris, 
"  a  good  picture  of  my  father's  weak  side.  And  what 
was  his  definition  of  myself  ?  " 

"He  said  that  you  were  in  his  opinion  one  of  the 
most  interesting  people  that  he  had  ever  met ;  that  you 
were  a  dreamer  and  a  mystic ;  that  you  cared  for  few  of 
the  things  which  usually  attract  young  men,  and  that 
you  were  in  practice  almost  a  misogynist.  He  added 
that,  although  heretofore  you  had  not  succeeded,  he 
thought  that  you  possessed  real  genius  in  certain  lines, 
but  that  you  had  not  your  father's  '  courtly  air,'  that  was 
his  term.  Of  course,  I  am  only  repeating,  so  you  must 
not  be  angry." 

"Well,"  said  Morris,  "I  asked  for  candour  and  I 
have  got  it.  Without  admitting  the  accuracy  of  his 
definitions,  I  must  say  that  I  never  thought  that  pom- 
pous old  Tomley  had  so  much  observation."  Then  he 
added  quickly,  to  change  the  subject,  since  the  possible 
discussion  of  his  own  attributes,  physical  or  mental, 
alarmed  him,  "Miss  Fregelius,  you  have  not  told  me 
how  you  came  to  be  left  upon  the  ship." 

"  Really,  Mr.  Monk,  I  don't  know.  I  heard  a  con- 
fused noise  in  my  sleep,  and  when  I  woke  up  it  was  to 
find  myself  alone,  and  the  saloon  half  full  of  water.  I 
suppose  that  after  the  vessel  struck,  the  sailors,  think- 
ing that  she  was  going  down,  got  off  at  once,  taking  my 
father,  who  had  been  injured  and  made  insensible  in 


MISS  FR  EG  ELI  US  119 

some  way,  with  them  as  he  happened  to  be  on  deck, 
leaving  me  to  my  chance.  You  know,  we  were  the  only 
passengers." 

"  Were  you  not  frightened  when  you  found  yourself 
all  alone  like  that  ?  " 

"Yes,  at  first,  dreadfully;  then  I  was  so  distressed 
about  my  father,  whom  I  thought  dead,  and  angry  with 
them  for  deserting  me,  that  I  forgot  to  be  frightened, 
and  afterwards  —  well,  I  was  too  proud.  Besides,  we 
must  die  alone,  every  one  of  us,  so  we  may  as  well  get 
accustomed  to  the  idea." 

Morris  shrugged  his  shoulders  impatiently. 

"  You  think  that  I  need  not  talk  so  much  about  our 
mortal  end.  Well,  perhaps  under  all  the  circumstances, 
we  may  as  well  keep  our  thoughts  on  this  world  — 
while  it  lasts.  You  have  not  told  me,  Mr.  Monk,  how 
you  came  to  be  sailing  about  alone  this  morning.  Did 
you  come  out  to  look  at  the  wreck  ? " 

"  Do  you  think  that  I  am  mad  ? "  he  asked,  not  with- 
out indignation.  "  Should  I  make  a  journey  at  night, 
in  a  November  fog,  with  every  chance  of  a  gale  com- 
ing up,  to  the  Sunk  Rocks  in  this  cockle-shell,  and 
alone,  merely  to  look  at  the  place  where,  as  I  under- 
stood rather  vaguely,  a  foreign  tramp  steamer  had  gone 
down  ? " 

"Well,  it  does  seem  rather  odd.  But  why  else  did 
you  come  ?  Were  you  fishing  ?  Men  will  risk  a 
great  deal  for  fishing,  I  know,  I  have  seen  that  in 
Norway." 

"  Why  do  you  pretend  not  to  understand,  Miss 
Fregelius  ?  You  must  know  perfectly  well  that  I  came 
to  look  for  you." 


120  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

"  Indeed,"  she  answered  candidly,  "  I  knew  nothing 
of  the  sort.  How  did  you  find  out  that  I  was  still  on 
the  ship,  or  that  the  ship  was  still  above  water  ?  And 
even  if  you  knew  both,  why  should  you  risk  your  life 
just  on  the  faint  chance  of  rescuing  a  girl  whom  you 
never  saw  ? " 

"  I  can't  quite  tell  you;  but  your  father  in  his  delirium 
muttered  some  words  which  made  me  suspect  the  truth, 
and  a  sailor  who  could  speak  a  little  bad  French  said  that 
the  Trondhjem  was  lost  upon  some  rocks.  Well,  these 
are  the  only  rocks  about  here;  and  as  the  whole  story 
was  too  vague  to  carry  to  the  lifeboat  people  I  thought 
that  I  would  come  to  look.  So  you  see  it  is  perfectly 
simple." 

"  So  simple,  Mr.  Monk,  that  I  do  not  understand  it  in 
the  least.  You  must  have  known  the  risks,  for  you 
asked  no  one  to  share  them  —  the  risks  that  are  so 
near  and  real ;  "  and,  shivering  visibly,  she  looked  at  the 
grey  combers  seething  past  them,  and  the  wind-torn 
horizon  beyond.  "Yet,  you  —  you  who  have  ties,  faced 
all  this  on  the  chance  of  saving  a  stranger." 

"  Please,  please,"  broke  in  Morris.  "  At  any  rate, 
you  see,  it  was  a  happy  inspiration." 

"Yes,  for  me,  perhaps  —  but  for  you!  Oh,  if  it 
should  end  in  your  being  taken  away  from  the  world 
before  your  time,  from  the  world  and  the  lady  who  — 
what  then  ? " 

Morris  winced ;  then  he  said :  "  God's  will  be  done. 
But  although  we  may  be  in  danger,  we  are  not  dead  yet ; 
not  by  a  long  way." 

"  She  would  hate  me  whose  evil  fortune  it  was  to 
draw  you  to  death,  and  in  life  or  out  of  it  I  should 


MISS  FREGELIUS  121 

never  forgive  myself  —  never!  never!  "  and  she  covered 
her  eyes  with  her  cold,  wet  hand  and  sighed. 

"  Why  should  you  grieve  over  what  you  cannot 
help  ? "  asked  Morris  gently. 

"  I  cannot  quite  explain  to  you,"  she  answered ;  "  but 
the  thought  of  it  seems  so  sad." 


CHAPTER  X 
DAWN  AND  THE  LAND 

A  DAY,  a  whole  day,  spent  upon  that  sullen,  sunless 
waste  of  water,  with  the  great  waves  bearing  them 
onwards  in  one  eternal,  monotonous  procession,  till  at 
length  they  grew  dizzy  with  looking  at  them,  and  the 
ceaseless  gale  piping  in  their  ears.  Long  ago  they  had 
lost  sight  of  land ;  even  the  tall  church  towers  built  by 
our  ancestors  as  beacons  on  this  stormy  coast  had 
vanished  utterly.  Twice  they  sighted  ships  scudding 
along  under  their  few  rags  of  canvas,  and  once  a 
steamer  passed,  the  smoke  from  her  funnels  blowing 
out  like  long  black  pennons.  But  all  of  these  were  too 
far  off,  or  too  much  engaged  with  their  own  affairs  to 
see  the  little  craft  tossing  hither  and  thither  like  a 
used-up  herring  basket  upon  the  endless  area  of  ocean. 

Fortunately,  from  his  youth  Morris  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  the  management  of  boats  in  all  sorts  of 
weather,  the  occupation  of  sailing  alone  upon  the  waters 
being  one  well  suited  to  his  solitary  and  reflective  dis- 
position. Thus  it  came  about  that  they  survived,  when 
others,  less  skilful,  might  have  drowned.  Sometimes 
they  ran  before  the  seas ;  sometimes  they  got  up  a  few 
square  feet  of  sail,  and,  taking  advantage  of  a  veer  in 
the  wind,  tried  to  tack,  and  once,  when  it  blew  its 


DAWN  AND   THE  LAND  123 

hardest,  fearing  lest  they  should  be  pooped,  for  over 
an  hour  they  contrived  to  keep  head  on  to  the  waves. 

Thus,  diversified  by  some  necessary  bailing,  passed 
the  short  November  day,  long  enough  for  them,  till 
once  more  the  darkness  began  to  gather.  They  had 
still  some  food  and  drink  left ;  indeed,  had  it  not  been 
for  these  they  would  have  perished.  Most  happily,  also, 
with  the  sun  the  wind  dropped,  although  for  hours  the 
sea  remained  dangerously  high.  Now  wet  and  cold 
were  their  enemies,  worse  than  any  that  they  had  been 
called  upon  to  face.  Long  ago  the  driving  spray  had 
soaked  them  to  the  skin,  and  there  upon  the  sea  the 
winter  night  was  very  chill. 

While  the  wind,  fortunately  for  them,  by  comparison 
a  warm  one,  still  blew  from  the  west,  and  the  sea 
remained  tempestuous,  they  found  some  shelter  by  wrap- 
ping themselves  in  a  corner  of  the  sail.  Towards  mid- 
night, however,  it  got  round  to  the  northeast,  enough 
of  it  to  moderate  the  sea  considerably,  and  to  enable 
them  to  put  the  boat  about  and  go  before  it  with  a 
closely  reefed  sail.  Now,  indeed,  they  were  bitterly 
cold,  and  longed  even  for  the  shelter  of  the  wet  canvas. 
Still  Morris  felt,  and  Stella  was  of  the  same  mind,  that 
before  utter  exhaustion  overtook  them  their  best  chance 
for  life  lay  in  trying  to  make  the  shore,  which  was,  they 
knew  not  how  far  away. 

There,  then,  for  hours  they  cowered  in  the  stern  of 
the  boat,  huddled  together  to  protect  themselves  as  best 
they  might  from  the  weather,  and  plunging  forward 
beneath  their  little  stretch  of  sail.  Sleep  they  could 
not,  for  that  icy  breath  bit  into  their  marrow,  and  of  this 
Morris  was  glad,  since  he  did  not  dare  relax  his  watch 


124  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

for  an  instant.  So  sometimes  they  sat  silent,  and  some- 
times by  fits  and  starts  they  talked,  their  lips  close  to 
each  other's  face,  as  though  they  were  whispering  to 
one  another. 

To  while  away  the  weary  time,  Morris  told  his  com- 
panion about  his  invention,  the  aerophone.  Then  she 
in  turn  told  him  something  of  her  previous  life  —  Stella 
was  now  a  woman  of  four  and  twenty.  It  seemed  that 
her  mother  had  died  when  she  was  fourteen  at  the 
rectory  in  Northumberland,  where  she  was  born.  After 
that,  with  short  intervals,  she  had  spent  five  years  in 
Denmark,  whither  her  father  came  to  visit  her  every 
summer.  Most  of  this  time  she  passed  at  a  school  in 
Copenhagen,  going  for  her  holidays  to  stay  with  her 
grandmother,  who  was  the  widow  of  a  small  landowner 
of  noble  family,  and  lived  in  an  ancient,  dilapidated  house 
in  some  remote  village.  At  length  the  grandmother 
died,  leaving  to  Stella  the  trifle  she  possessed,  after 
which,  her  education  being  completed,  she  returned  to 
Northumberland  to  keep  house  for  her  father.  Here, 
too,  it  would  seem  that  her  life  was  very  lonely,  for  the 
place  was  but  an  unvisited  coast  village,  and  they  were 
not  rich  enough  to  mix  much  with  the  few  county 
families  who  lived  anywhere  within  reach. 

"  Have  you  no  brothers  or  sisters  ?  "  asked  Morris. 

Even  then,  numb  as  was  her  flesh  with  cold,  he  felt 
her  wince  at  the  question. 

"  No,  no,"  she  answered,  "  none  now  —  at  least,  none 
here.  I  have  —  I  mean  I  had  —  a  sister,  my  twin,  but 
she  died  when  we  were  seventeen.  This  was  the  most 
dreadful  thing  that  ever  happened  to  me,  the  thing  which 
made  me  what  I  am." 


DAWN  AND   THE  LAND  12$ 

"  I  don't  quite  understand.     What  are  you,  then  ? " 

"  Oh,  something  very  unsatisfactory,  I  am  afraid, 
quite  different  from  other  people.  What  Mr.  Tomley 
said  you  were,  Mr.  Monk,  a  mystic  and  a  dreamer  of 
dreams ;  a  lover  of  the  dead ;  one  who  dwells  in  the  past, 
and  —  in  the  future." 

Morris  did  not  pursue  the  subject ;  even  under  their 
strange  circumstances,  favourable  as  they  were  to  inti- 
macy and  confidences,  it  seemed  impertinent  to  him  to 
pry  into  the  mysteries  of  his  companion's  life.  Only 
he  asked,  at  hazard  almost: 

"  How  did  you  spend  your  time  up  there  in  Northum- 
berland ?  " 

"  In  drawing  a  little,  in  collecting  eggs,  moths,  and 
flowers  a  great  deal ;  in  practising  my  violin  playing  and 
singing ;  and  during  the  long  winters  in  making  transla- 
tions in  my  spare  time  of  Norse  sagas,  which  no  one 
will  publish." 

"  I  should  like  to  read  them  ;  I  am  fond  of  the  sagas," 
he  said,  and  after  this,  under  pressure  of  their  physical 
misery,  the  conversation  died  away. 

Hour  succeeded  to  hour,  and  the  weather  moderated 
so  much  that  now  they  were  in  little  danger  of  being 
swamped.  This,  indeed,  was  fortunate,  since  in  the 
event  of  a  sudden  squall  or  other  emergency,  in  their 
numbed  condition  it  was  doubtful  whether  they  could 
have  found  strength  to  do  what  might  be  necessary  to 
save  themselves.  They  drank  what  remained  of  the 
whiskey,  which  put  life  into  their  veins  for  a  while,  but 
soon  its  effects  passed  off,  leaving  them,  if  possible, 
more  frozen  than  before. 

"  What  is  the  time  ?"  asked  Stella,  after  a  long  silence. 


126  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

"  It  should  be  daybreak  in  about  two  hours,"  he  an- 
swered, in  a  voice  that  attempted  cheerfulness. 

Then  a  squall  of  sleet  burst  upon  them,  and  after 
this  new  misery  a  torpor  overcame  Stella ;  at  least,  her 
shiverings  grew  less  violent,  and  her  head  sank  upon 
his  shoulder.  Morris  put  one  arm  about  her  waist  to 
save  her  from  slipping  into  the  water  at  the  bottom  of 
the  boat,  making  shift  to  steer  with  the  other.  Thus, 
for  a  while  they  ploughed  forward  —  whither  he  knew 
not,  across  the  inky  sea,  for  there  was  no  moon,  and  the 
stars  were  hidden,  driven  on  slowly  by  the  biting  breath 
of  the  winter  wind. 

Presently  she  awoke,  lifted  her  head,  and  spoke, 
saying : 

"We  can't  last  much  longer  in  this  cold  and  wet. 
You  are  not  afraid,  are  you  ?  " 

"  No,  not  exactly  afraid,  only  sorry ;  it  is  hard  to  go 
with  so  much  to  be  done,  and  —  to  leave  behind." 

"You  shouldn't  think  like  that,"  she  answered,  "for 
what  we  leave  must  follow.  She  will  suffer,  but  soon 
she  will  be  with  you  again,  where  everything  is  under- 
stood. Only  you  ought  to  have  died  with  her,  and  not 
with  me,  a  stranger." 

"  Fate  settles  these  things,"  he  muttered,  "  and  if  it 
comes  to  that,  perhaps  God  will  give  her  strength.  But 
the  dawn  is  near,  and  by  it  we  may  see  land." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  —  now  her  voice  had  sunk  to  a  whisper,  — 
"the  dawn  is  always  near,  and  by  it  we  shall  see  land." 

Then  again  Stella's  head  sank  upon  his  shoulder,  and 
she  slept  heavily ;  nor,  although  he  knew  that  such 
slumbers  are  dangerous,  did  he  think  it  worth  while  to 
disturb  her. 


DAWN  AND   THE  LAND  127 

The  invisible  seas  hissed  past ;  the  sharp  wind  bit  his 
bones,  and  over  him,  too,  that  fatal  slumber  began  to 
creep.  But,  although  he  seldom  exercised  it,  Morris  was 
a  man  of  strong  will,  and  while  any  strength  was  left 
he  refused  to  give  way.  Would  this  dreadful  darkness 
never  end  ?  For  the  fiftieth  time  he  glanced  back  over 
his  shoulder,  and  now,  he  was  sure  of  it,  the  east  grew 
ashen.  He  waited  awhile,  for  the  November  dawn  is 
slow  in  breaking,  then  looked  again.  Heaven  be 
thanked !  the  cold  wind  had  driven  away  the  clouds,  and 
there,  upon  the  edge  of  the  horizon,  peeped  up  the  fiery 
circle  of  the  sun,  throwing  long  rays  of  sickly  yellow 
across  the  grey,  troubled  surface  of  the  waters.  In 
front  of  him  lay  a  dense  bank  of  fog,  which,  from  its 
character,  as  Morris  knew  well,  must  emanate  from  the 
reeking  face  of  earth.  They  were  near  shore,  it  could 
not  be  doubted ;  still,  he  did  not  wake  his  companion. 
Perhaps  he  might  be  in  error,  and  sleep,  even  a 
death-sleep,  is  better  than  the  cheatings  of  disappointed 
hope. 

What  was  that  dim  object  in  front  of  him  ?  Surely 
it  must  be  the  ruin  a  mile  or  so  to  the  north  of  Monks- 
land,  that  was  known  as  the  Dead  Church  ?  Once  a 
village  stood  here,  but  the  sea  had  taken  most  of  it ;  in- 
deed, all  that  remained  to-day  was  this  old,  deserted  fane, 
which,  having  been  built  upon  a  breast  of  rising  ground, 
still  remained,  awaiting  its  destruction  by  the  slow  sap  of 
the  advancing  ocean.  Even  now,  at  times  of  very  high 
tide,  the  sea  closed  in  behind,  cutting  the  fabric  off  from 
the  mainland,  when  it  looked  like  a  forsaken  lighthouse 
rather  than  the  tower  and  chancel  of  a  church.  But 
there,  not  much  more  than  a  mile  away,  yes,  there  it 


128  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

was,  and  Morris  felt  proud  to  think  how  straight  he  had 
steered  homewards  through  that  stormy  darkness. 

The  sea  was  still  wild  and  high,  but  he  was  familiar 
with  every  inch  of  the  coast,  and  knew  well  that  there 
was  a  spot  to  the  south  of  the  Dead  Church,  just  where 
the  last  rood  of  graveyard  met  the  sand,  upon  which  he 
could  beach  the  boat  safely  even  in  worse  weather.  For 
this  nook  Morris  headed  with  a  new  energy  ;  the  fires  of 
life  and  hope  burnt  up  in  him,  giving  him  back  his 
strength  and  judgment. 

At  last  they  were  opposite  to  the  place,  and,  watching 
his  chance,  he  put  the  helm  down  and  ran  in  upon  the 
crest  of  a  wave,  till  the  boat  grounded  in  the  soft  sand, 
and  began  to  wallow  there  like  a  dying  thing.  Fearing 
lest  the  back-wash  should  suck  them  off  into  the  surf 
again,  he  rolled  himself  into  the  water,  for  jump  he 
could  not;  indeed,  it  was  as  much  as  he  could  do  to 
stand.  With  a  last  effort  of  his  strength  he  seized 
Stella  in  his  arms  and  struggled  with  her  to  the  sandy 
shore,  where  he  sank  down  exhausted.  Then  she  woke. 
"  Oh,  I  dreamed,  I  dreamed ! "  she  said,  staring  round 
her  wildly. 

"What?"  he  asked. 

"That  it  was  all  over;  and  afterwards,  that  I " 

and  she  broke  off  suddenly,  adding :  "  But  it  was  all  a 
dream,  for  we  are  safe  on  shore,  are  we  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  thank  Heaven  !  "  said  Morris.  "  Sit  still,  and  I 
will  make  the  boat  secure.  She  has  served  us  a  good 
turn,  and  I  do  not  want  to  lose  her  after  all." 

She  nodded,  and  wading  into  the  water,  with  numbed 
hands  he  managed  to  lift  the  little  anchor  and  carry 
it  ashore  in  his  arms. 


DAWN  AND   THE  LAND  129 

"  There,"  he  said,  "  the  tide  is  ebbing,  and  she'll  hold 
fast  enough  until  I  can  send  to  fetch  her ;  or,  if  not,  it 
can't  be  helped.  Come  on,  Miss  Fregelius,  before  you 
grow  too  stiff  to  walk ; "  and,  bending  down,  he  helped 
her  to  her  feet. 

Their  road  ran  past  the  nave  of  the  church,  which  was 
ruined  and  unroofed.  At  some  time  during  the  last  two 
generations,  however,  although  the  parishioners  saw  that 
it  was  useless  to  go  to  the  cost  of  repairing  the  nave,  they 
had  bricked  in  the  chancel,  and  to  within  the  last  twenty 
years  continued  to  use  it  as  a  place  of  worship.  Indeed, 
the  old  oak  door  taken  from  the  porch  still  swung  on 
rusty  hinges  in  the  partition  wall  of  red  brick.  Stella 
looked  up  and  saw  it. 

"  I  want  to  look  in  there,"  she  said. 

"  Wouldn't  it  do  another  time  ? "  The  moment  did 
not  strike  Morris  as  appropriate  for  the  examination  of 
ruined  churches. 

"  No ;  if  you  don't  mind  I  should  like  to  look  now, 
while  I  remember,  just  for  one  instant." 

So  he  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  they  limped  for- 
ward up  the  roofless  nave  and  through  the  door.  She 
stared  at  the  plain  stone  altar,  at  the  eastern  window,  of 
which  part  was  filled  with  ancient  coloured  glass  and 
part  with  cheap  glazed  panes ;  at  the  oak  choir  benches, 
mouldy  and  broken ;  at  the  few  wall-slabs  and  decaying 
monuments,  and  at  the  roof  still  strong  and  massive. 

"  I  dreamed  of  a  place  very  like  this,"  she  said,  nod- 
ding her  head.  "  I  thought  that  I  was  standing  in  such 
a  spot  in  a  fearful  gale,  and  that  the  sea  got  under  the 
foundations  and  washed  the  dead  out  of  their  graves." 

"  Really,  Miss  Fregelius,"  he  said,  with  some  irritation, 


130  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

for  the  surroundings  of  the  scene  and  his  companion's 
talk  were  uncanny,  "  do  you  think  this  an  occasion  to 
explore  ruins  and  relate  nightmares  ?  "  Then  he  added, 
"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  think  that  the  cold  and  wet 
have  affected  your  nerves ;  for  my  part,  I  have  none  left." 

"  Perhaps ;  at  least  forgive  me,  I  did  so  want  to  look," 
she  answered  humbly  as,  arm-in-arm,  for  she  needed 
support,  they  passed  from  the  altar  to  the  door. 

A  grotesque  imagination  entered  the  numbed  mind 
of  Morris.  Their  slow  and  miserable  march  turned 
itself  to  a  vision  of  a  bridal  procession  from  the  altar. 
Wet,  dishevelled,  half-frozen,  they  two  were  the  bride- 
groom and  the  bride,  and  the  bride  was  a  seer  of  visions, 
and  the  bridegroom  was  a  dreamer  of  dreams.  Yes,  and 
they  came  up  together  out  of  the  bitter  sea  and  the 
darkness,  and  they  journeyed  together  to  a  vault  of 
the  dead 

Thank  Heaven !  they  were  out  of  the  place,  and 
above  was  the  sun  shining,  and,  to  right  and  left,  the  grey 
ocean  and  the  purple  plough-lands,  cold-looking,  suggest- 
ing dangers  and  labour,  but  wholesome  all  of  them,  and 
good  to  the  eye  of  man.  Only  why  did  this  woman  see 
visions,  and  why  did  he  dream  dreams  ?  And  what  was 
the  meaning  of  their  strange  meeting  upon  the  sea  ? 
And  what 

"  Where  are  we  going  ? "  asked  Stella  after  a  while 
and  very  faintly. 

"  Home ;  to  the  Abbey  I  mean,  where  your  father 
lies.  Now  it  is  not  much  more  than  a  mile  away." 

She  sighed  ;  her  strength  was  failing  her. 

"You  had  better  try  to  walk,  it  will  warm  you,"  he 
urged,  and  she  struggled  on. 


DAWN  AND   THE  LAND  131 

It  was  a  miserable  journey,  but  they  reached  the 
house  at  length,  passing  first  through  a  street  of  the 
village  in  which  no  one  seemed  to  be  awake.  A 
wretched-looking  couple,  they  stumbled  up  the  steps 
into  the  porch,  where  Morris  rang  the  bell,  for  the  door 
was  locked.  The  time  seemed  an  age,  but  at  last  steps 
were  heard,  the  door  was  unbarred,  and  there  appeared 
the  vision  of  the  lad  Thomas,  yawning,  and  clad  in  a 
nightshirt  and  a  pair  of  trousers,  with  braces  attached 
which  dangled  to  the  floor. 

"Oh,  Lord!  "  he  said  when  he  saw  them,  and  his  jaw 
dropped. 

"Get  out  of  the  way,  you  young  idiot,"  said  Morris, 
"and  call  the  cook." 

It  was  half-past  seven  in  the  evening,  that  is,  dinner 
time,  and  Morris  stood  in  the  study  waiting  for  Stella, 
who  had  announced  through  the  housemaid  that  she  was 
coming  down. 

After  telling  the  servants  to  send  for  the  doctor  and 
attend  to  his  companion,  who  had  insisted  upon  being 
led  straight  to  her  father's  room,  Morris's  first  act 
that  morning  on  reaching  home  was  to  take  a  bath  as 
hot  as  he  could  bear.  Then  he  drank  several  cups 
of  coffee  with  brandy  in  it,  and  as  the  office  would 
soon  be  open,  wrote  a  telegram  to  Mary,  which  ran 
thus: 

"  If  you  hear  that  I  have  been  drowned,  don't  believe 
it.  Have  arrived  safe  home  after  a  night  at  sea." 

This  done,  for  he  guessed  that  all  sorts  of  rumours 
would  be  abroad,  he  inquired  after  Mr.  Fregelius  and 


132  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

Stella.  Having  learned  that  they  were  both  going  on 
well  and  sent  off  his  telegram,  Morris  went  to  bed  and 
slept  for  ten  hours. 

Morris  looked  round  the  comfortable  sitting-room 
with  its  recessed  Tudor  windows,  its  tall  bookcases  and 
open  hearth,  where  burned  a  bright  fire  of  old  ship's 
timbers  supported  on  steel  dogs,  and  thought  to  himself 
that  he  was  fortunate  to  be  there.  Then  the  door 
opened,  he  heard  the  housemaid's  voice  say,  "  This  way 
please,  Miss,"  and  Stella  came  in.  She  wore  a  plain 
white  dress  that  seemed  to  fit  her  very  well,  though 
where  she  got  it  from  he  never  discovered,  and  her  luxu- 
riant hair  was  twisted  up  into  a  simple  knot.  On  the 
bosom  of  her  dress  was  fixed  a  spray  of  brilliant  ampe- 
lopsis  leaves ;  it  was  her  only  ornament,  but  none  could 
have  been  more  striking.  For  the  rest,  although  she 
limped  and  still  looked  dark  and  weary  about  the  eyes, 
to  all  appearances  she  was  not  much  the  worse  for  their 
terrible  adventure. 

Morris  glanced  at  her.  Could  this  dignified  and 
lovely  young  lady  be  that  red-cloaked,  loose-haired 
Valkyrie  whom  he  had  seen  singing  at  daybreak  upon 
the  prow  of  the  sinking  ship,  or  the  piteous  bedraggled 
person  whom  he  had  supported  from  the  altar  in  the 
Dead  Church  ? 

She  guessed  his  thought  —  from  the  beginning  Stella 
had  this  curious  power  of  discovering  his  mind  —  and 
said  with  a  smile  : 

"  Fine  feathers  make  fine  birds,  and  even  Cleopatra 
would  have  looked  dreadful  after  a  November  night  in 
an  open  boat." 


DAWN  AND   THE  LAND  133 

"  Have  you  recovered  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Monk ;  that  is,  I  don't  think  I  am  going  to 
have  inflammation  of  the  lungs  or  anything  horrid  of 
the  sort.  The  remedies  and  that  walk  stopped  it.  But 
my  feet  are  peeling  from  being  soaked  so  long  in  salt 
water,  and  my  hands  are  not  much  better.  See,"  and 
she  held  them  towards  him. 

Then  dinner  was  announced,  and  for  the  second  time 
that  day  they  walked  arm-in-arm. 

"  It  seems  a  little  strange,  doesn't  it  ? "  suggested 
Morris  as  he  surveyed  the  great  refectory  in  which 
they  two,  seated  at  the  central  table,  looked  so  lone  and 
small. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered ;  "  but  so  it  should,  anything 
quite  usual  would  have  been  out  of  place  to-day." 

Then  he  asked  her  how  her  father  was  going  on,  and 
heard  what  he  had  already  learned  from  the  doctor, 
that  he  was  doing  as  well  as  could  be  expected. 

"By  the  way,  Mr.  Monk,"  she  added;  "if  you  can 
spare  a  few  minutes  after  dinner,  and  are  not  too  tired, 
he  would  so  much  like  to  see  you." 

"  Of  course,"  answered  Morris  a  little  nervously,  for 
he  scented  a  display  of  fervent  gratitude. 

After  this  they  dropped  into  desultory  conversation, 
curiously  different  from  the  intimate  talk  which  passed 
between  them  in  the  boat.  Then  they  had  been  in 
danger,  and  at  times  in  the  very  shadow  of  Death ;  a  con- 
dition that  favours  confidences  since  those  who  stand 
beneath  his  wings  no  longer  care  to  hide  their  hearts. 
The  reserves  which  so  largely  direct  our  lives  are  lifted, 
their  necessity  is  past,  and  in  the  face  of  the  last  act  of 
Nature,  Nature  asserts  herself.  Who  cares  to  continue 


134  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

to  play  a  part  when  the  audience  has  dispersed,  the  cur- 
tain is  falling,  and  the  pay-box  has  put  up  its  shutters  ? 
Now,  very  unexpectedly  these  two  were  on  the  stage 
again,  and  each  assumed  the  allotted  role. 

Stella  admired  the  room ;  whereon  Morris  set  to  work 
to  explain  its  characteristics,  to  find,  to  his  astonishment, 
that  Miss  Fregelius  had  more  knowledge  of  architecture 
than  he  could  boast.  He  pointed  out  certain  details, 
alleging  them  to  be  Elizabethan  work,  to  which  age  they 
had  been  accredited  for  generations,  whereon  she  sug- 
gested and,  indeed,  proved,  that  some  of  them  dated 
from  the  earlier  years  of  Henry  VIII.,  and  that  some 
were  late  Jacobean.  While  Morris  was  wondering  how 
he  could  combat  this  revolutionary  opinion,  the  servant 
brought  in  a  telegram.  It  was  from  Mary,  at  Beaulieu, 
and  ran : 

"  Had  not  heard  you  were  drowned,  but  am  deeply 
thankful  that  you  are  saved.  Why  did  you  pass  a  night 
at  sea  in  this  weather  ?  Is  it  a  riddle  ?  Grieved  to  say 
my  father  not  so  well.  Best  love,  and  please  keep  on 
shore.  MARY." 

At  first  Morris  was  angry  with  this  rather  flippant 
message ;  then  he  laughed.  As  he  had  already  discov- 
ered, in  fact,  his  anxieties  had  been  quite  groundless. 
The  page-boy,  Thomas,  it  appeared,  when  questioned, 
had  given  the  inquirers  to  understand  that  his  master 
had  gone  out  to  fish,  taking  his  breakfast  with  him. 
Later,  on  his  non-appearance,  he  amended  this  state- 
ment, suggesting  out  of  the  depths  of  a  fertile  imagina- 
tion, that  he  had  sailed  down  to  Northwold,  where  he 
meant  to  pass  the  night.  Therefore,  although  the  cook, 


DAWN  AND   THE  LAND  135 

a  far-seeing  woman  who  knew  her  Thomas  and  hated 
him,  had  experienced  pangs  of  doubt,  nobody  else 
troubled  in  the  least,  and  even  the  small  community  of 
Monksland  remained  profoundly  undisturbed  as  to  the 
fate  of  one  of  its  principal  inhabitants. 

So  little  is  an  unsympathetic  world  concerned  in  our 
greatest  and  most  particular  adventures !  A  birth,  a 
marriage,  an  inquest,  a  scandal  —  these  move  it  super- 
ficially, for  the  rest  it  has  no  enthusiasm  to  spare.  This 
cold  neglect  of  events  which  had  seemed  to  him  so  im- 
portant reacted  upon  Morris,  who,  now  that  he  had  got 
over  his  chill  and  fatigue,  saw  them  in  their  proper  pro- 
portions. A  little  adventure  in  an  open  boat  at  sea 
which  had  ended  without  any  mishap,  was  not  remark- 
able, and  might  even  be  made  to  appear  ridiculous.  So 
the  less  said  about  it,  especially  to  Mary,  whose  wit  he 
feared,  the  better. 

When  dinner  was  finished  Stella  left  the  room,  pass- 
ing down  its  shadowed  recesses  with  a  peculiar  grace  of 
which  even  her  limp  could  not  rob  her.  Ten  minutes 
later,  while  Morris  sat  sipping  a  glass  of  claret,  the  nurse 
came  down  to  tell  him  that  Mr.  Fregelius  would  like  to 
see  him  if  he  were  disengaged.  Reflecting  that  he 
might  as  well  get  the  interview  over,  Morris  followed  her 
at  once  to  the  Abbot's  chamber,  where  the  sick  man  lay. 

Except  for  a  single  lamp  near  the  bed,  the  place 
was  unlighted,  but  by  the  fire,  its  glow  falling  on  her 
white-draped  form  and  pale,  uncommon  face,  sat  Stella. 
As  he  entered  she  rose,  and,  coming  forward,  accom- 
panied him  to  th^  bedside,  saying,  in  an  earnest  voice  : 

"  Father,  here  is  our  host,  Mr.  Monk,  the  gentleman 
who  saved  my  life  at  the  risk  of  his  own." 


136  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

The  patient  raised  his  bandaged  head  and  stretched 
out  a  long  thin  hand ;  he  could  stir  nothing  else,  for  his 
right  thigh  was  in  splints  beneath  a  coffer-like  erection 
designed  to  keep  the  pressure  of  the  blankets  from  his 
injured  limb. 

"  Sir,  I  thank  you,"  he  said  in  a  dry,  staccato  voice ; 
"all  the  humanity  that  is  lacking  from  the  hearts  of 
those  rude  wretches,  the  crew  of  the  Trondhjem,  must 
have  found  its  home  in  you." 

Morris  looked  at  the  dark,  quick  eyes  that  seemed  to 
express  much  which  the  thin  and  impassive  face  refused 
to  reveal ;  at  the  grey  pointed  beard  and  the  yellowish 
skin  of  the  outstretched  arm.  Here  before  him,  he 
felt,  lay  a  man  whose  personality  it  was  not  easy  to 
define,  one  who  might  be  foolish,  or  might  be  able,  but 
of  whose  character  the  leading  note  was  reticence,  in- 
herent or  acquired.  Then  he  took  the  hand,  and  said 
simply : 

"  Pray,  say  no  more  about  it.  I  acted  on  an  impulse 
and  some  wandering  words  of  yours,  with  results  for 
which  I  could  not  hope.  There  is  nothing  to  thank  me 
for." 

"  Then,  sir,  I  thank  God,  who  inspired  you  with  that 
impulse,  and  may  every  blessing  reward  your  bravery." 

Stella  looked  up  as  though  to  speak,  but  changed  her 
mind  and  returned  to  her  seat  by  the  fire. 

"  What  is  there  to  reward  ? "  said  Morris  impatiently  ; 
"  that  your  daughter  is  still  alive  is  my  reward.  How 
are  you  to-night,  Mr.  Fregelius  ? " 


CHAPTER  XI 
A  MORNING  SERVICE 

MR.  FREGELIUS  replied  he  was  as  well  as  could  be 
expected ;  that  the  doctor  said  no  complications  were 
likely  to  ensue,  but  that  here  upon  this  very  bed  he 
must  lie  for  at  least  two  months.  "  That,"  he  added, 
"is  a  sad  thing  to  have  to  say  to  a  man  into  whose 
house  you  have  drifted  like  a  log  into  a  pool  of  the 
rocks." 

"It  is  not  my  house,  but  my  father's,  who  is  at 
present  in  France,"  answered  Morris.  "  But  I  can 
only  say  on  his  behalf  that  both  you  and  your  daughter 
are  most  welcome  until  you  are  well  enough  to  move 
to  the  Rectory." 

"  Why  should  I  not  go  there  at  once  ? "  interrupted 
Stella.  "  I  could  come  each  day  and  see  my  father." 

"  No,  no,  certainly  not,"  said  Morris.  "  How  could 
you  live  alone  in  that  great,  empty  house  ? " 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  being  alone,"  she  answered, 
smiling;  "but  let  it  be  as  you  like,  Mr.  Monk — at  any 
rate,  until  you  grow  tired  of  us,  and  change  your  mind." 

Then  Mr.  Fregelius  told  Morris  what  he  had  not  yet 
heard— that  when  it  became  known  that  they  had  deserted 
Stella,  leaving  her  to  drown  in  the  sinking  ship,  the  at- 
tentions of  the  inhabitants  of  Monksland  to  the  cowardly 
foreign  sailors  became  so  marked  that  their  consul  at 


138  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

Northwold  had  thought  it  wise  to  get  them  out  of  the 
place  as  quickly  as  possible.  While  this  story  was  in 
progress  Stella  left  the  room  to  speak  to  the  nurse  who 
had  been  engaged  to  look  after  her  father  at  night. 

Afterwards,  at  the  request  of  Mr.  Fregelius,  Morris 
told  the  tale  of  his  daughter's  rescue.  In  the  course 
of  it  he  mentioned  how  he  found  her  standing  on  the 
deck  of  the  sinking  ship  and  singing  a  Norse  song, 
which  she  had  informed  him  was  an  ancient  death-dirge. 

The  old  clergyman  turned  his  head  and  sighed. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? "  asked  Morris. 

"  Nothing,  Mr.  Monk ;  only  that  song  is  unlucky  in 
my  family,  and  I  hoped  that  she  had  forgotten  it." 

Morris  looked  at  him  blankly. 

"  You  don't  understand  —  how  should  you  ?  But,  Mr. 
Monk,  there  are  strange  things  and  strange  people  in 
this  world,  and  I  think  that  my  daughter  Stella  is  one 
of  the  strangest  of  them.  Fey  like  the  rest  —  only  a 
fey  Norse  woman  would  sing  in  such  a  moment." 

Again  Morris  looked  at  him. 

"  Oh,  it  is  an  old  northern  term,  and  means  foreseeing, 
and  foredoomed.  To  my  knowledge  her  grandmother, 
her  mother,  and  her  sister,  all  three  of  them,  sang  or 
repeated  that  song  when  in  some  imminent  danger  to 
their  lives,  and  all  three  of  them  were  dead  within  the 
year.  The  coincidence  is  unpleasant." 

"Surely,"  said  Morris,  with  a  smile,  "you  who  are  a 
clergyman,  can  scarcely  believe  in  such  superstition  ?  " 

"  No,  I  am  not  superstitious,  and  I  don't  believe  in 
it ;  but  the  thing  recalls  unhappy  memories.  They 
have  been  death-lovers,  all  of  them.  I  never  heard  of 
a  case  of  one  of  that  family  who  showed  the  slightest 


A  MORNING  SERVICE  139 

fear  at  the  approach  of  death ;  and  some  have  greeted 
it  with  eagerness." 

"  Well,"  said  Morris,  "  would  not  that  mean  only 
that  their  spiritual  sight  is  a  little  clearer  than  ours, 
and  their  faith  a  little  stronger?  Theoretically,  we 
should  all  of  us  wish  to  die." 

"  Quite  so,  yet  we  are  human,  and  don't.  But  she 
is  safe,  thanks  to  you,  who  but  for  you  would  now  be 
gone.  My  head  is  still  weak  from  that  blow  —  you  must 
pay  no  attention  to  me.  I  think  that  I  hear  Stella  com- 
ing; you  will  say  nothing  to  her  —  about  that  song,  I 
mean  —  will  you  ?  We  never  talk  of  it  in  my  family." 

When,  still  stiff  and  sore  from  his  adventure  in  the 
open  boat,  Morris  went  to  bed,  it  was  clear  to  his  mind 
after  careful  consideration  that  fortune  had  made  him 
the  host  of  an  exceedingly  strange  couple.  Of  Mr. 
Fregelius  he  was  soon  able  to  form  an  estimate  distinct 
enough,  although,  for  aught  he  knew,  it  might  be  errone- 
ous. The  clergyman  struck  him  as  a  person  of  some 
abilities  who  had  been  doomed  to  much  disappointment 
and  suffered  from  many  sorrows.  Doubtless  his  talents 
had  not  proved  to  be  of  a  nature  to  advance  him  in  the 
world.  Probably,  indeed  —  and  here  Morris's  hazard  was 
correct  —  he  was  a  scholar  and  a  bookworm  without  in- 
dividuality, to  whom  fate  had  assigned  minor  positions 
in  a  profession,  which,  however  sincere  his  faith,  he  was 
scarcely  fitted  to  adorn. 

The  work  of  a  clergyman  in  a  country  parish  if  it  is 
to  succeed,  should  be  essentially  practical,  and  this  man 
was  not  practical.  Clearly,  thought  Morris,  he  was  one 
of  those  who  beat  their  wings  against  the  bars  with  the 
common  result ;  it  was  the  wings  that  suffered,  the  bars 


140  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

only  grew  a  trifle  brighter.  Then  it  seemed  that  he  had 
lost  a  wife  to  whom  he  was  attached,  and  the  child  who 
remained  to  him,  although  he  loved  her  and  clung  to  her, 
he  did  not  altogether  understand.  So  it  came  about, 
perhaps,  that  he  had  fallen  under  the  curses  of  loneli- 
ness and  continual  apprehension ;  and  in  this  shadow 
where  he  was  doomed  to  walk,  flourished  forebodings 
and  regrets,  drawing  their  strength  from  his  starved 
nature  like  fungi  from  a  tree  outgrown  and  fallen  in  the 
forest. 

Mr.  Fregelius,  so  thought  Morris,  was  timid  and 
reticent,  because  he  dared  not  discover  his  heart,  that 
had  been  so  sorely  trampled  by  Fate  and  Fortune.  Yet 
he  had  a  heart  which,  if  he  could  find  a  confessor  whom 
he  could  trust,  he  longed  to  ease  in  confidence.  For 
the  rest,  the  man's  physical  frame,  not  too  robust  at  any 
time,  was  shattered,  and  with  it  his  nerve  —  sudden  ship- 
wreck, painful  accident,  the  fierce  alternatives  of  hope 
and  fear ;  then  at  last  a  delirium  of  joy  at  the  recovery 
of  one  whom  he  thought  dead,  had  done  their  work 
with  him ;  and  in  this  broken  state  some  ancient,  secret 
superstition  became  dominant,  and,  strive  as  he  would 
to  suppress  it,  even  in  the  presence  of  a  stranger,  had 
burst  from  his  lips  in  hints  of  unsubstantial  folly. 

Such  was  the  father,  or  such  he  appeared  to  Morris, 
but  of  the  daughter  what  could  be  said  ?  Without 
doubt  she  was  a  woman  of  strange  and  impressive 
power.  At  this  very  moment  her  sweet  voice,  touched 
with  that  continual  note  of  pleading,  still  echoed  in  his 
brain.  And  the  dark,  quiet  eyes  that  now  slept,  and 
now  shone  large,  as  her  thoughts  fled  through  them,  like 
some  mysterious  sky  at  night  in  which  the  summer 


A  MORNING  SERVICE  141 

lightning  pulses  intermittently!  Who  might  forget 
those  eyes  that  once  had  seen  them?  Already  he 
wished  to  be  rid  of  their  haunting  and  could  not.  Then 
her  beauty  —  how  unusual  it  was,  yet  how  rich  and  satis- 
fying to  the  eye  and  sense ;  in  some  ways  almost  Eastern 
notwithstanding  her  Norse  blood ! 

Often  Morris  had  read  and  heard  of  the  bewildering 
power  of  women,  which  for  his  part  hitherto  he  had 
been  inclined  to  attribute  to  shallow  and  very  common 
causes,  such  as  underlie  all  animate  nature.  Yet  that 
of  Stella  —  for  undoubtedly  she  had  power  —  suggested 
another  interpretation  to  his  mind.  Or  was  it,  after  all, 
nothing  but  a  variant,  one  of  the  Protean  shapes  of  the 
ancient,  life-compelling  mystery  ?  And  her  strange 
chant,  the  song  of  which  her  father  made  light,  but 
feared  so  much ;  her  quick  insight  into  the  workings 
of  his  own  thought ;  her  courage  in  the  face  of  danger 
and  sharp  physical  miseries ;  her  charm,  her  mastery. 
What  was  he  to  make  of  them  ?  Lastly,  why  did  he 
think  so  much  about  her  ?  It  was  not  his  habit  where 
strangers  were  concerned.  And  why  had  she  awakened 
in  his  somewhat  solitary  and  secluded  mind  a  sympathy 
so  unusual  that  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  known  her 
for  years  and  not  for  hours  ? 

Pondering  these  things  and  the  fact  that  perhaps 
within  the  coming  weeks  he  would  find  out  their  mean- 
ing, Morris  went  to  sleep.  When  he  awoke  next  morn- 
ing his  mood  had  changed.  Somewhat  vaguely  he 
remembered  his  perturbations  of  the  previous  night 
indeed,  but  now  they  only  moved  him  to  a  smile.  Their 
reasons  were  so  obvious.  Such  exaggerated  estimates 
and  thoughts  follow  strange  adventures  —  and  in  all  its 


142  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

details  the  adventure  was  very  strange  — as  naturally  as 
nightmares  follow  indigestion. 

Presently  Thomas  came  to  call  him,  and  brought  up 
his  letters,  among  them  one  from  Mary  containing 
nothing  in  particular,  for,  of  course,  it  had  been 
despatched  before  her  telegram,  but  written  in  her 
usual  humorous  style,  which  made  him  laugh  aloud. 

There  was  a  postscript  to  the  letter  screwed  into  the 
unoccupied  space  between  the  date  line  and  the  "  Dear- 
est Morris  "  at  its  commencement.  It  ran : 

"How  would  you  like  to  spend  our  honeymoon?  In 
a  yacht  in  the  Mediterranean  ?  I  think  that  would  do. 
There  is  nothing  like  solitude  in  a  wretched  little  boat  to 
promote  mutual  understanding.  If  your  devotion  could 
stand  the  strain  of  a  dishevelled  and  seasick  spouse,  our 
matrimonial  future  has  no  terrors  for  your  loving 

MARY." 

As  Morris  read  he  ceased  to  laugh.  "Yes,"  he 
thought  to  himself,  " '  solitude  in  a  wretched  little  boat ' 
does  promote  mutual  understanding.  I  am  not  certain 
that  it  does  not  promote  it  too  much."  Then,  with  an 
access  of  irritation,  "  Bother  the  people !  I  wish  I  could 
be  rid  of  them ;  the  whole  thing  seems  likely  to  become 
a  worry." 

Next  he  took  up  a  letter  from  his  father,  which,  when 
perused,  did  not  entertain  him  in  the  least.  There  was 
nothing  about  Lady  Rawlins  in  it,  of  whom  he  longed 
to  hear,  or  thought  that  he  did ;  nothing  about  that 
entrancing  personality,  the  bibulous  and  violent  Sir 
Jonah,  now  so  meek  and  lamblike,  but  plenty,  whole 
pages  indeed,  as  to  details  connected  with  the  estate. 


A  MORNING  SERVICE  143 

Also  it  contained  a  goodly  sprinkling  of  sarcasms  and 
grumblings  at  his,  Morris's,  bad  management  of  various 
little  matters  which  the  Colonel  considered  important. 
Most  of  all,  however,  was  his  parent  indignant  at  his 
neglect  to  furnish  him  with  details  sufficiently  ample  of 
the  progress  of  the  new  buildings.  Lastly,  he  desired, 
by  return'  of  post,  a  verbatim  report  of  the  quarrel  that, 
as  he  was  informed,  had  occurred  on  the  school  board 
when  a  prominent  Roman  Catholic  threatened  to  throw 
an  inkstand  at  a  dissenting  minister  who,  coram  populo, 
called  him  the  son  of  "  a  Babylonian  woman." 

By  the  time  that  Morris  had  finished  this  epistle,  and 
two  others  which  accompanied  it,  he  was  in  no  mood  for 
further  reflections  of  an  unpractical  or  dreamy  nature. 
Who  can  wonder  when  it  is  stated  that  they  contained, 
respectively,  a  summary  demand  for  the  amount  of  a 
considerable  bill  which  he  imagined  he  had  paid,  and  a 
request  that  he  would  read  a  paper  before  a  "  Science 
Institute "  upon  the  possibilities  of  aerial  telephones, 
made  by  a  very  unpleasing  lady  whom  he  had  once  met 
at  a  lawn-tennis  party?  Indeed  it  would  not  be  too 
much  to  say  that  if  anyone  had  given  him  the  oppor- 
tunity he  would  have  welcomed  a  chance  to  quarrel, 
especially  with  the  lady  of  the  local  Institute.  Thus, 
cured  of  all  moral  distempers,  and  every  tendency  to 
speculate  on  feminine  charms,  hidden  or  overt,  did  he 
descend  to  the  Sabbath  breakfast. 

That  morning  Morris  escorted  Stella  to  church,  where 
the  services  were  still  being  performed  by  a  stop-gap  left 
by  Mr.  Tomley.  Here,  again,  Stella  was  a  surprise  to 
him,  for  now  her  demeanour,  and  at  a  little  distance 
her  appearance  also,  were  just  such  as  mark  ninety- 


144  STELLA  F REG  ELI  US 

eight  out  of  every  hundred  clergymen's  daughters  in 
the  country.  So  quiet  and  reserved  was  she  that  any- 
one meeting  her  that  morning  might  have  imagined  that 
she  was  hurrying  from  the  accustomed  Bible-class  to  sit 
among  her  pupils  in  the  church.  This  impression  indeed 
was,  as  it  were,  certificated  by  an  old-fashioned  silk  fichu 
that  she  had  been  obliged  to  borrow,  which  in  bygone 
years  had  been  worn  by  Morris's  mother. 

Once  in  church,  however,  matters  changed.  To  be- 
gin with,  finding  it  warm,  Stella  threw  oft  the  fichu, 
greatly  to  the  gain  of  her  personal  appearance.  Next, 
it  became  evident  that  the  beauties  of  the  ancient  build- 
ing appealed  to  her,  which  was  not  wonderful ;  for  these 
old,  seaside,  eastern  counties  churches,  relics  of  long  past 
wealth  and  piety,  are  some  of  them  among  the  most  beau- 
tiful in  the  world.  Then  came  the  "  Venite,"  of  which 
here  and  there  she  sang  a  line  or  so,  just  one  or  two  rich 
notes  like  those  that  a  thrush  utters  before  he  bursts 
into  full  song.  Rare  as  they  might  be,  however,  they 
caused  those  about  her  in  the  church  to  look  at  the 
strange  singer  wonderingly. 

After  this,  in  the  absence  of  his  father,  Morris  read 
the  lessons,  and  although,  being  blessed  with  a  good 
voice,  this  was  a  duty  which  he  performed  creditably 
enough,  that  day  he  went  through  it  with  a  certain  sense  of 
nervousness.  Why  he  was  nervous  at  first  he  did  not 
guess ;  till,  chancing  to  glance  up,  he  became  aware  that 
Miss  Fregelius  was  looking  at  him  out  of  her  half-closed 
eyes.  What  is  more,  she  was  listening  critically,  and 
with  much  intenseness,  whereupon,  instantly,  he  made  a 
mistake  and  put  a  false  accent  on  a  name. 

In  due  course,  the  lessons  done  with,  they  reached  the 


A  MORNING  SERVICE  145 

first  hymn,  which  was  one  that  scarcely  seemed  to  please 
his  companion  ;  at  any  rate,  she  shut  the  book  and  would 
not  sing.  In  the  case  of  the  second  hymn,  however, 
matters  were  different.  This  time  she  did  not  even 
open  the  book.  It  was  evident  that  she  knew  the  words, 
perhaps  among  the  most  beautiful  in  the  whole  collec- 
tion, by  heart.  The  reader  will  probably  be  acquainted 
with  them.  They  begin  : 

"  And  now,  O  Father,  mindful  of  the  love 
That  bought  us,  once  for  all,  on  Calvary's  tree." 

At  first  Stella  sang  quite  low,  as  though  she  wished  to 
repress  her  powers.  Now,  as  it  happened,  at  Monks- 
land  the  choir  was  feeble,  but  inoffensive ;  whereas  the 
organ  was  a  good,  if  a  worn  and  neglected  instrument, 
suited  to  the  great  but  sparsely  peopled  church,  and  the 
organist,  a  man  who  had  music  in  his  soul.  Low  as  she 
was  singing,  he  caught  the  sound  of  Stella's  voice,  and 
knew  at  once  that  before  him  was  a  woman  who  in  a 
supreme  degree  possessed  the  divinest  gift,  perhaps, 
with  which  Nature  can  crown  her  sex,  the  power  and 
gift  of  song.  Forgetting  his  wretched  choir,  he  began 
to  play  to  her.  She  seemed  to  note  the  invitation,  and 
at  once  answered  to  it. 

"  Look,  Father,  look  on  His  anointed  face," 

swelled  from  her  throat  in  deep  contralto  notes,  rich  as 
those  the  organ  echoed. 

But  the  full  glory  of  the  thing,  that  surpassing  music 
which  set  Monksland  talking  for  a  week,  was  not 
reached  till  she  came  to  the  third  verse.  Perhaps  the 
pure  passion  and  abounding  humanity  of  its  spirit 


146  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

moved  her.  Perhaps  by  this  time  she  was  the  thrall  of 
her  own  song.  Perhaps  she  had  caught  the  look  of 
wonder  and  admiration  on  the  face  of  Morris,  and  was 
determined  to  show  him  that  she  had  other  music  at 
command  besides  that  of  pagan  death-chants.  At  least, 
she  sang  up  and  out,  till  her  notes  dominated  those  of 
the  choir,  which  seemed  to  be  but  an  accompaniment  to 
them ;  till  they  beat  against  the  ancient  roof  and  down 
the  depth  of  the  long  nave,  to  be  echoed  back  as  though 
from  the  golden  trumpets  of  the  angels  that  stood  above 
the  tower  screen ;  till  even  the  village  children  ceased 
from  whispers  and  playing  to  listen  open-mouthed. 

"  And  then  for  those,  our  dearest  and  our  best, 
By  this  prevailing  Presence  we  appeal ; 
O  !  fold  them  closer  to  Thy  mercy's  breast, 
O  !  do  Thine  utmost,  for  their  souls'  true  weal ; 
From  tainting  mischief  keep  them  white  and  clear, 
And  crown  Thy  gifts  with  strength  to  persevere.'1 

It  was  as  her  voice  lingered  upon  the  deep  tones  of 
these  last  words  that  suddenly  Stella  seemed  to  become 
aware  that  practically  she  was  singing  a  solo ;  that  at 
any  rate  no  one  else  in  the  congregation  was  contributing 
a  note.  Then  she  was  vexed,  or  perhaps  a  panic  took 
her ;  at  least,  not  another  word  of  that  hymn  passed  her 
lips.  In  vain  the  organist  paused  and  looked  round 
indignantly;  the  little  boys,  the  clerk,  and  the  stout 
coach-builder  were  left  to  finish  it  by  themselves,  with 
results  that  by  contrast  were  painful. 

When  Stella  came  out  of  church,  redraped  in  the 
antique  and  unbecoming  fichu,  she  found  herself  the 
object  of  considerable  attention.  Indeed,  upon  one  pre- 
text and  another  nearly  all  the  congregation  seemed  to 


A  MORNING  SERVICE  147 

be  lingering  about  the  porch  and  pathway  to  stare  at  the 
new  parson's  shipwrecked  daughter  when  she  appeared. 
Among  them  was  Miss  Layard,  and  with  her  the  delicate 
brother.  They  were  staying  to  lunch  with  the  Stop- 
gap's meek  little  wife.  Indeed,  this  self-satisfied  and 
somewhat  acrimonious  lady,  Miss  Layard,  engaged 
Morris  in  conversation,  and  pointedly  asked  him  to  intro- 
duce her  to  Miss  Fregelius. 

"  We  are  to  be  neighbours,  you  know,"  she  explained, 
"  for  we  live  at  the  Hall  in  the  next  parish,  not  more 
than  a  mile  away." 

"  Indeed,"  answered  Stella,  who  did  not  seem  much 
impressed. 

"  My  brother  and  I  hope  to  call  upon  Mr.  Fregelius 
and  yourself  as  soon  as  possible,  but  I  thought  I  would 
not  wait  for  that  to  have  the  pleasure  of  making  your 
acquaintance." 

"  You  are  very  kind  indeed,"  said  Stella  simply.  "  At 
present,  I  am  afraid,  it  is  not  much  use  calling  upon 
my  father,  as  he  is  in  bed  with  a  broken  thigh ;  also, 
we  are  not  in  the  Rectory.  Until  he  can  be  moved 
we  are  only  guests  at  the  Abbey,"  and  she  looked  at 
Morris,  who  added  rather  grumpily,  by  way  of  explana- 
tion : 

"  Of  course,  Miss  Layard,  you  have  heard  about  the 
wreck  of  the  Trondhjem,  and  how  those  foreign  sailors 
saw  the  light  in  my  workshop  and  brought  Mr.  Fregelius 
to  the  Abbey." 

"  Oh,  yes,  Mr.  Monk,  and  how  they  left  Miss  Fregelius 
behind,  and  you  went  to  fetch  her,  and  all  sorts  of  strange 
things  happened  to  you.  We  think  it  quite  wonderful 
and  romantic.  I  am  writing  to  dear  Miss  Person  to  tell 


148  STELLA  FREGEL1US 

her  about  it,  because  I  am  sure  that  you  are  too  modest 
to  sing  your  own  praises." 

Morris  grew  angry.  At  the  best  of  times  he  disliked 
Miss  Layard.  Now  he  began  to  detest  her,  and  to  long 
for  the  presence  of  Mary,  who  understood  how  to  deal 
with  that  not  too  well-bred  young  person. 

"  You  really  needn't  have  troubled,"  he  answered.  "  I 
have  already  written." 

"Then  my  epistle  will  prove  a  useful  commentary. 
If  I  were  engaged  to  a  modern  hero  I  am  sure  I  could 
not  hear  too  much  about  him,  and,"  fixing  her  eyes  upon 
the  black  silk  fichu,  "the  heroine  of  the  adventure." 

Meanwhile,  Stella  was  being  engaged  by  the  brother, 
who  surveyed  her  with  pale,  admiring  eyes  which  did 
not  confine  their  attentions  to  the  fichu. 

"  Monk  is  always  an  awfully  lucky  fellow,"  he  said. 
"  Just  fancy  his  getting  the  chance  of  doing  all  that,  and 
finding  you  waiting  on  the  ship  at  the  end  of  it,"  he 
added,  with  desperate  and  emphatic  gallantry.  "  There's 
to  be  a  whole  column  about  it  in  the  '  Northwold  Times ' 
to-morrow.  I  wish  the  thing  had  come  my  way,  that's  all." 

"  Unless  you  understand  how  to  manage  a  boat  in  a 
heavy  sea,  and  the  winds  and  tides  of  this  coast  thor- 
oughly, I  don't  think  that  you  should  wish  that,  Mr. 
Layard,"  said  Stella. 

"Why  not?"  he  asked  sharply.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
the  little  man  was  a  miserable  sailor  and  suspected  her 
of  poking  fun  at  him. 

"  Because  you  would  have  been  drowned,  Mr.  Layard, 
and  lying  at  the  bottom  of  the  North  Sea  among  the 
dogfish  and  conger-eels  this  morning  instead  of  sitting 
comfortably  in  church." 


A  MORNING  SERVICE  149 

Mr.  Layard  started  and  stared  at  her.  Evidently 
this  lady's  imagination  was  as  vivid  as  it  was  suggestive. 

"I  say,  Miss  Fregelius,"  he  said,  "you  don't  put 
things  very  pleasantly." 

"  No,  I  am  afraid  not,  but  then  drowning  isn't  pleas- 
ant. I  have  been  near  it  very  lately,  and  I  thought  a 
great  deal  about  those  conger-eels.  And  sudden  death 
isn't  pleasant,  and  perhaps  —  unless  you  are  very,  very 
good,  as  I  daresay  you  are  —  what  comes  after  it  may 
not  be  quite  pleasant.  All  of  which  has  to  be  thought 
of  before  one  goes  to  sea  alone  in  an  open  boat  in  win- 
ter, on  the  remotest  chance  of  saving  a  stranger's  life  — 
hasn't  it?" 

Somehow  Mr.  Layard  felt  distinctly  smaller. 

"  I  daresay  one  wouldn't  mind  it  at  a  pinch,"  he  mut- 
tered ;  "  Monk  isn't  the  only  plucky  fellow  in  the  world." 

"  I  am  sure  you  would  not,  Mr.  Layard,"  replied 
Stella  in  a  gentler  voice,  "still  these  things  must  be 
considered  upon  such  occasions  and  a  good  many 
others." 

"A  brave  man  doesn't  think,  he  acts,"  persisted  Mr. 
Layard. 

"No,"  replied  Stella,  "a  foolish  man  doesn't  think, 
a  brave  man  thinks  and  sees,  and  still  acts  —  at  least, 
that  is  how  it  strikes  me,  although  perhaps  I  have  no 
right  to  an  opinion.  But  Mr.  Monk  is  going  on,  so  I 
must  say  good-morning." 

"Are  many  of  the  ladies  about  here  so  inquisitive, 
and  the  young  gentlemen  so?"  —  "decided"  she  was 
going  to  say,  but  changed  the  word  to  "  kind  "  —  asked 
Stella  of  Morris  as  they  walked  homeward. 

"  Ladies  !  "  snapped   Morris.     "  Miss    Layard  isn't  a 


150  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

lady,  and  never  will  be ;  she  has  neither  birth  nor  breed- 
ing, only  good  looks  of  a  sort  and  money.  I  should 
like,"  he  added,  viciously  —  "I  should  like  to  shut  her 
into  her  own  coal  mine." 

Stella  laughed,  which  was  a  rare  thing  with  her  — 
usually  she  only  smiled  —  as  she  answered  : 

"  I  had  no  idea  you  were  so  vindictive,  Mr.  Monk. 
And  what  would  you  like  to  do  with  Mr.  Layard  ? " 

"  Oh  !  I  —  never  thought  much  about  him.  He  is  an 
ignorant,  uneducated  little  fellow,  but  worth  two  of  his 
sister,  all  the  same.  After  all,  he's  got  a  heart.  I  have 
known  him  do  kind  things,  but  she  has  nothing  but  a 
temper." 

Meanwhile,  at  the  luncheon  table  of  the  Stop-gap  the 
new  and  mysterious  arrival,  Miss  Fregelius,  was  the 
subject  of  fierce  debate. 

"  Pretty  !  I  don't  call  her  pretty,"  said  Miss  Layard  ; 
"  she  has  fine  eyes,  that  is  all,  and  they  do  not  look 
quite  right.  What  an  extraordinary  garment  she  had 
on,  too;  it  might  have  come  out  of  Noah's  Ark." 

"  I  fancy,"  suggested  the  hostess,  a  mild  little  woman, 
"that  it  came  out  of  the  wardrobe  of  the  late  Mrs.  Monk. 
You  know,  Miss  Fregelius  lost  all  her  things  in  that  ship." 

"  Then  if  I  were  she  I  should  have  stopped  at  home 
until  I  got  some  new  ones,"  snapped  Miss  Layard. 

"  Perhaps  everybody  doesn't  think  so  much  about 
clothes  as  you  do,  Eliza,"  suggested  her  brother  Stephen, 
seeing  an  opportunity  which  he  was  loth  to  lose.  Eliza, 
in  the  privacy  of  domestic  life,  was  not  a  person  to  be 
assailed  with  a  light  heart,  but  in  company,  when  to 
some  extent  she  must  keep  her  temper  under  control, 
more  might  be  dared. 


A   MORNING  SERVICE  151 

She  shifted  her  chair  a  little,  with  her  a  familiar  sign 
of  war,  and  while  searching  for  a  repartee  which  would 
be  sufficiently  crushing,  cast  on  Stephen  a  glance  that 
might  have  turned  wine  into  vinegar. 

Somewhat  tremulously,  for  unless  the  fire  could  be 
damped  before  it  got  full  hold,  she  knew  what  they 
might  expect,  the  little  hostess  broke  in  with  — 

"  What  a  beautiful  voice  she  has,  hasn't  she  ?  " 

"Who  ?"  asked  Eliza,  pretending  not  to  understand. 

"  Why,  Miss  Fregelius,  of  course." 

"  Oh,  well,  that  is  a  matter  of  opinion." 

"Hang  it  all,  Eliza!"  said  her  brother,  "there  can't 
be  two  opinions  about  it,  she  sings  like  an  angel." 

"  Do  you  think  so,  Stephen  ?  I  should  have  said  she 
sings  like  an  opera  dancer." 

"  Always  understood  that  their  gifts  lay  in  their  legs 
and  not  in  their  throats.  But  perhaps  you  mean  a 
prima  donna,"  remarked  Stephen  reflectively. 

"  No,  I  don't.  Prima  donnas  are  not  in  the  habit  of 
screeching  at  the  top  of  their  voices,  and  then  stopping 
suddenly  to  make  an  effect  and  attract  attention." 

"Certainly  she  attracted  my  attention,  and  I  only 
wish  I  could  hear  such  screeching  every  day ;  it  would 
be  a  great  change."  It  may  be  explained  that  the 
Layards  were  musical,  and  that  each  detested  the  music 
of  the  other. 

"  Really,  Stephen,"  rejoined  Eliza,  with  sarcasm  as 
awkward  as  it  was  meant  to  be  crushing,  "  I  shall  have 
to  tell  Jane  Rose  that  she  is  dethroned,  poor  dear  — 
beaten  out  of  the  field  by  a  hymn-tune,  a  pair  of  brown 
eyes,  and  —  a  black  silk  fichu." 

This  was  a  venomous  stab,  since  for  a  distance  of  ten 


152  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

miles  round  everyone  with  ears  to  hear  knew  that 
Stephen's  admiration  of  Miss  Rose  had  not  ended 
prosperously  for  Stephen.  The  poisoned  knife  sank 
deep,  and  its  smart  drove  the  little  pale-eyed  man  to 
fury. 

"  You  can  tell  her  what  you  like,  Eliza,"  he  replied, 
for  his  self-control  was  utterly  gone ;  "  but  it  won't  be 
much  use,  for  she'll  know  what  you  mean.  She'll  know 
that  you  are  jealous  of  Miss  Fregelius  because  she's  so 
good  looking ;  just  as  you  are  jealous  of  her,  and  of  Mary 
Porson,  and  of  anybody  else  who  dares  to  be  pretty 
and,"  with  crushing  meaning,  "  to  look  at  Morris  Monk." 

Eliza  gasped,  then  said  in  a  tragic  whisper,  "  Stephen, 
you  insult  me.  Oh !  if  only  we  were  at  home,  I  would 
tell  you " 

"  I  have  no  doubt  you  would  —  you  often  do  ;  but  I'm 
not  going  home  at  present.  I  am  going  to  the  North- 
wold  hotel." 

"  Really,"  broke  in  their  hostess,  almost  wringing  her 
hands,  "  this  is  Sunday,  Mr.  Layard ;  remember  this  is 
Sunday." 

"  I  am  not  likely  to  forget  it,"  replied  the  maddened 
Stephen  ;  but  over  the  rest  of  this  edifying  scene  we  will 
drop  a  veil. 

Thus  did  the  advent  of  Stella  bring  with  it  surprises, 
rumours,  and  family  dissensions.  What  else  it  brought 
remains  to  be  told. 


CHAPTER  XII 
MR.  LAYARD'S  WOOING 

THE  days  went  by  with  an  uneventful  swiftness  at  the 
Abbey,  and  after  he  had  once  accustomed  himself  to  the 
strangeness  of  what  was,  in  effect,  solitude  in  the  house 
with  an  unmarried  guest  of  the  other  sex,  it  may  be  ad- 
mitted, very  pleasantly  to  Morris.  At  first  that  rather 
remarkable  young  lady,  Stella,  had  alarmed  him  some- 
what, so  that  he  convinced  himself  that  the  duties  of 
this  novel  hospitality  would  prove  irksome.  As  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  however,  in  forty-eight  hours  the  irksome- 
ness  was  all  gone,  to  be  replaced  within  twice  that  period 
by  an  atmosphere  of  complete  understanding,  which  was 
comforting  to  his  fearful  soul. 

The  young  lady  was  never  in  the  way.  Now  that  she 
had  procured  some  suitable  clothes  the  young  lady  was 
distinctly  good  looking ;  she  was  remarkably  intelligent 
and  well-read ;  she  sang,  as  Stephen  Layard  had  said, 
"  like  an  angel " ;  she  took  a  most  enlightened  interest 
in  aerophones  and  their  possibilities ;  she  proved  a  very 
useful  assistant  in  various  experiments ;  and  made  one 
or  two  valuable  suggestions.  While  Mary  and  the  rest 
of  them  were  away  the  place  would  really  be  dull  with- 
out her,  and  somehow  he  could  not  be  as  sorry  as  he 
ought  when  Dr.  Charters  told  him  that  old  Mr.  Frege- 
lius's  bones  were  uniting  with  exceeding  slowness. 

'53 


154  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

Such  were  the  conclusions  which  one  by  one  took 
shape  in  the  mind  of  that  ill-starred  man,  Morris  Monk. 
As  yet,  however,  let  the  student  of  his  history  under- 
stand, they  were  not  tinged  with  the  slightest  "  arriere- 
pensde."  He  did  not  guess  even  that  such  relations  as 
already  existed  between  Stella  and  himself  might  lead 
to  grievous  trouble ;  that  at  least  they  were  scarcely  wise 
in  the  case  of  a  man  engaged. 

All  he  felt,  all  he  knew,  was  that  he  had  found 
a  charming  companion,  a  woman  whose  thought,  if 
deeper,  or  at  any  rate  different  to  his  and  not  altogether 
to  be  followed,  was  in  tune  with  his.  He  could  not 
always  catch  her  meaning,  and  yet  that  unrealised 
meaning  would  appeal  to  him.  Himself  a  very  spiritual 
man,  and  a  humble  seeker  after  truth,  his  nature  did 
intuitive  reverence  to  one  who  appeared  to  be  still  more 
spiritual,  who,  as  he  conjectured,  at  times  at  any  rate, 
had  discovered  some  portion  of  the  truth.  He  believed 
it,  although  she  had  never  told  him  so.  Indeed  that 
semi-mystical  side  of  Stella,  whereof  at  first  she  had 
shown  him  glimpses,  seemed  to  be  quite  in  abeyance; 
she  dreamed  no  more  dreams,  she  saw  no  more  visions, 
or  if  she  did  she  kept  them  to  herself.  Yet  to  him  this 
woman  seemed  to  be  in  touch  with  that  unseen  which 
he  found  it  so  difficult  to  weigh  and  appreciate.  In- 
stinctively he  felt  that  her  best  thoughts,  her  most  noble 
and  permanent  desires,  were  there  and  not  here. 

As  he  had  said  to  her  in  the  boat,  the  old  Egyptians 
lived  to  die.  In  life  a  clay  hut  was  for  them  a  sufficient 
lodging ;  in  death  they  sought  a  costly,  sculptured  tomb, 
hewn  from  the  living  rock.  With  them  these  things 
were  symbolical,  since  that  great  people  believed,  with  a 


MR.  LAYAR&S   WOOING  1 55 

wonderful  certainty,  that  the  true  life  lay  beyond.  They 
believed,  too,  that  on  the  earth  they  did  but  linger  in  its 
gateway,  passing  their  time  with  such  joy  as  they  could 
summon,  baring  their  heads  undismayed  to  the  rain  of 
sorrow,  because  they  knew  that  very  soon  they  would  be 
crowned  with  eternal  joys,  whereof  each  of  these  sorrows 
was  but  an  earthly  root. 

Stella  Fregelius  reminded  Morris  of  these  old  Egyptians. 
Indeed,  had  he  wished  to  carry  the  comparison  from  her 
spiritual  to  her  physical  attributes  it  still  might  have  been 
considered  apt,  for  in  face  she  was  somewhat  Eastern. 
Let  the  reader  examine  the  portrait  bust  of  the  great 
Queen  Taia,  clothed  with  its  mysterious  smile,  which 
adorns  the  museum  in  Cairo,  and,  given  fair  instead 
of  dusky  skin,  with  certain  other  minor  differences, 
he  will  behold  no  mean  likeness  to  Stella  Fregelius. 
However  this  may  be,  for  if  Morris  saw  the  resem- 
blance there  were  others  who  could  not  agree  with  him ; 
doubtless  although  not  an  Eastern,  ancient  or  modern, 
she  was  tinged  with  the  fatalism  of  the  East,  mingled 
with  a  certain  contempt  of  death  inherited  perhaps 
from  her  northern  ancestors,  and  an  active,  pervading 
spirituality  that  was  all  her  own.  Yet  her  manners 
were  not  gloomy,  nor  her  air  tragic,  for  he  found 
her  an  excellent  companion,  fond  of  children  and 
flowers,  and  at  times  merry  in  her  own  fashion.  But 
this  gaiety  of  hers  always  reminded  Morris  of  that 
which  is  said  to  have  prevailed  in  the  days  of  the 
Terror  among  those  destined  to  the  guillotine.  Never 
for  one  hour  did  she  seem  to  forget  the  end.  "  '  Vanity 
of  vanities,'  saith  the  Preacher";  and  that  lesson  was 
her  watchword. 


156  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

One  evening  they  were  walking  together  upon  the 
cliff.  In  the  west  the  sun  had  sunk,  leaving  a  pale, 
lemon-coloured  glow  upon  the  sky.  Then  far  away  over 
the  quiet  sea,  showing  bright  and  large  in  that  frosty  air, 
sprang  out  a  single  star.  Stella  halted  in  her  walk,  and 
looked  first  at  the  sunset  heaven,  next  at  the  solemn  sea, 
and  last  at  that  bright,  particular  star  set  like  a  diadem 
of  power  upon  the  brow  of  advancing  night.  Morris, 
watching  her,  saw  the  blood  mantle  to  her  pale  face, 
while  the  dark  eyes  grew  large  and  luminous,  proud,  too, 
and  full  of  secret  strength.  At  length  his  curiosity  got 
the  better  of  him. 

"What  are  you  thinking  of  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  tell  you  ? " 

"  Yes,  if  you  will." 

"  You  will  laugh  at  me." 

"  Yes  —  as  I  laugh  at  that  sky,  and  sea,  and  star." 

"  Well,  then,  I  was  thinking  of  the  old,  eternal  differ- 
ence between  the  present  and  the  future." 

"  You  mean  between  life  and  death  ?  "  queried  Morris, 
and  she  nodded,  answering : 

"  Between  life  and  death,  and  how  little  people  see  or 
think  of  it.  They  just  live  and  forget  that  beneath 
them  lie  their  fathers'  bones.  They  forget  that  in  some 
few  days  —  perhaps  more,  perhaps  less — other  unknown 
creatures  will  be  standing  above  their  forgotten  bones,  as 
blind,  as  self-seeking,  as  puffed  up  with  the  pride  of  the 
brief  moment,  and  filled  with  the  despair  of  their  failure, 
the  glory  of  their  success,  as  they  are  to-night." 

"  Perhaps,"  suggested  Morris,  "  they  say  that  while 
they  are  in  the  world  it  is  well  to  be  of  the  world ;  that 
when  they  belong  to  the  next  it  will  be  time  to  consider 


MR.  LAYARWS   WOOING  157 

it.  I  am  not  sure  that  they  are  not  right.  I  have  heard 
that  view,"  he  added,  remembering  a  certain  conversa- 
tion with  Mary. 

"  Oh,  don't  think  that !  "  she  answered,  almost  implor- 
ingly ;  "  for  it  is  not  true,  really  it  is  not  true.  Of  course, 
the  next  world  belongs  to  all,  but  our  lot  in  it  does  not 
come  to  us  by  right,  that  must  be  earned." 

"  The  old  doctrine  of  our  Faith,"  suggested  Morris. 

"  Yes ;  but,  as  I  believe,  there  is  more  behind,  more 
which  we  are  not  told ;  that  we  must  find  out  for  our- 
selves with  '  groanings  which  cannot  be  uttered ;  by  hope 
we  are  saved.'  Did  not  St.  Paul  hint  at  it  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? " 

"  I  mean  that  as  our  spirit  sows,  so  shall  it  reap ;  as  it 
imagines  and  desires,  so  shall  it  inherit.  It  is  here  that 
the  soul  must  grow,  not  there.  As  the  child  comes  into 
the  world  with  a  nature  already  formed,  and  its  blood 
filled  with  gifts  of  strength  or  weakness,  so  shall  the 
spirit  come  into  its  world  wearing  the  garment  that  it 
has  woven  and  which  it  cannot  change." 

"  The  garment  that  it  has  woven,"  said  Morris.  "  That 
means  free  will,  and  how  does  free  will  chime  in  with 
your  fatalism,  Miss  Fregelius  ?  " 

"  Perfectly ;  the  material  given  us  to  weave  with,  that 
is  Fate ;  the  time  which  is  allotted  for  the  task,  that  is 
Fate  again ;  but  the  pattern  is  our  own.  Here  are 
brushes,  here  is  pigment,  so  much  of  it,  of  such  and 
such  colours,  and  here  is  light  to  work  by.  '  Now  paint 
your  picture,'  says  the  Master ;  '  paint  swiftly,  with  such 
skill  as  you  can,  not  knowing  how  long  is  allotted  for 
the  task.'  And  so  we  weave,  and  so  we  paint,  every 
one  of  us  —  every  one  of  us." 


158  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

"  What  is  your  picture,  Miss  Fregelius  ?  Tell  me,  if 
you  will." 

She  laughed,  and  drew  herself  up.  "  Mine,  oh  !  it  is 
large.  It  is  to  reign  like  that  star.  It  is  to  labour  for- 
ward from  age  to  age  at  the  great  tasks  that  God  shall 
set  me;  to  return  and  bow  before  His  throne  crying, 
'  It  is  done.  Behold,  is  the  work  good  ? '  For  the 
hour  that  they  endure  it  is  still  to  be  with  those  whom 
I  have  loved  on  earth,  although  they  cannot  see  me; 
to  soothe  their  sorrows,  to  support  their  weakness,  to 
lull  their  fears.  It  is  that  the  empty  longing  and  daily 
prayer  may  be  filled,  and  filled,  and  filled  again,  like  a 
cup  from  a  stream  which  never  ceases." 

"  And  what  is  that  daily  prayer  ? "  asked  Morris, 
looking  at  her. 

"  O !  God,  touch  me  with  Thy  light,  and  give  me 
understanding  —  yes,  understanding — the  word  encloses 
all  I  seek,"  she  replied,  then,  checking  herself,  added  in 
a  changed  voice,  "  Come,  let  us  go  home ;  it  is  foolish  to 
talk  long  of  such  things." 

Shortly  after  this  curious  conversation,  which  was  never 
renewed  between  them,  or,  at  least,  but  once,  a  new  ele- 
ment entered  into  the  drama,  the  necessary  semi-comic 
element  without  which  everything  would  be  so  dull. 
This  fresh  factor  was  the  infatuation,  which  possibly 
the  reader  may  have  foreseen,  of  the  susceptible,  impul- 
sive little  man,  Stephen  Layard,  for  Stella  Fregelius, 
the  lady  whose  singing  he  had  admired,  and  who  had 
been  a  cause  of  war  between  him  and  his  sister.  Like 
many  weak  men,  Stephen  Layard  was  obstinate,  also 
from  boyhood  up  he  had  suffered  much  at  the  hands 


MR.  LAYAR&S   WOOING  159 

of  Eliza,  who  was  not,  in  fact,  quite  so  young  as  she 
looked.  Hence  there  arose  in  his  breast  a  very  natural 
desire  for  retaliation.  Eliza  had  taken  a  violent  dislike 
to  Miss  Fregelius,  whom  he  thought  charming.  This 
circumstance  in  their  strained  relations  was  reason 
enough  to  induce  Stephen  to  pay  court  to  her,  even  if 
his  natural  inclination  had  not  made  the  adventure  very 
congenial. 

Therefore,  on  the  first  opportunity  he  called  at  the 
Abbey  to  ask  after  the  rector,  to  be,  as  he  had  hoped, 
received  by  Stella.  Finding  his  visit  exceedingly  agree- 
able, after  a  day  or  two  he  repeated  it,  and  this  time  was 
conducted  to  the  old  clergyman's  bedroom,  upon  whom 
his  civility  made  a  good  impression. 

Now,  as  it  happened,  although  he  did  not  live  in 
Monksland,  Mr.  Layard  was  one  of  the  largest  property 
owners  in  the  parish,  a  circumstance  which  he  did  not 
fail  to  impress  upon  the  new  rector.  Being  by  nature 
and  training  a  hard-working  man  who  wished  to  do  his 
best  for  his  cure  even  while  he  lay  helpless,  Mr.  Frege- 
lius welcomed  the  advances  of  this  wealthy  young  gentle- 
man with  enthusiasm,  especially  when  he  found  that  he 
was  no  niggard.  A  piece  of  land  was  wanted  for  the 
cemetery.  Mr.  Layard  offered  to  present  an  acre. 
Money  was  lacking  to  pay  off  a  debt  upon  the  reading- 
room.  Mr.  Layard  headed  the  subscription  list  with  a 
handsome  sum.  And  so  forth. 

Now  the  details  of  these  various  arrangements  could 
not  conveniently  be  settled  without  many  interviews, 
and  thus  very  soon  it  came  about  that  scarcely  a  day 
went  by  upon  which  Mr.  Layard's  dog-cart  did  not  pass 
through  the  Abbey  gates.  Generally  he  came  in  the 


160  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

morning  and  stopped  to  lunch ;  or  he  came  in  the  after- 
noon and  stopped  to  tea.  In  fact,  or  thus  it  seemed  to 
Morris,  he  always  stopped  to  something,  so  much  so 
that  although  not  lacking  in  hospitality,  at  times  Morris 
found  his  presence  wearisome,  for  in  truth  the  two  men 
had  nothing  in  common. 

"He  must  have  turned  over  a  new  leaf  with  a  ven- 
geance, for  he  never  would  give  a  sixpence  to  anything 
during  old  Tomley's  time,"  remarked  Morris  to  Stella. 
"  I  suppose  that  he  has  taken  a  great  fancy  to  your 
father,  which  is  a  good  thing  for  the  parish,  as  those 
Layards  are  richer  than  Croesus." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Stella  with  a  curious  little  smile. 

But  to  herself  she  did  not  smile  ;  for,  if  Morris  found 
his  visitor  a  bore,  to  Stella  he  was  nothing  short  of  an 
infliction,  increased  rather  than  mitigated  by  numerous 
presents  of  hot-house  fruit  and  flowers  offered  to  herself, 
and  entailing,  each  of  them,  an  expression  of  thanks 
verbal  or  written.  At  first  she  treated  the  thing  as  a 
joke,  till  it  grew  evident  that  her  admirer  was  as  much 
in  earnest  as  his  nature  would  permit.  Thereon,  fore- 
seeing eventualities,  she  became  alarmed. 

Unless  some  means  could  be  found  to  stop  him  it 
was  now  clear  to  Stella  that  Mr.  Layard  meant  to 
propose  to  her,  and  as  she  had  not  the  slightest  inten- 
tion of  accepting  him  this  was  an  honour  which  she 
did  not  seek.  But  she  could  find  no  sufficient  means ; 
hints,  and  even  snubs,  only  seemed  to  add  fuel  to  the 
fire,  and  of  a  perpetual  game  of  hide  and  seek  she  grew 
weary. 

So  it  came  about  that  at  last  she  shrugged  her  shoul- 
ders and  left  things  to  take  their  chance,  finding  some 


MR.   LAYAR&S   WOOING  l6l 

consolation  for  her  discomfort  in  the  knowledge  that 
Miss  Layard,  convinced  that  the  rector's  daughter  was 
luring  her  inexperienced  brother  into  an  evil  matri- 
monial net,  could  in  no  wise  restrain  her  rage  and 
indignation.  So  openly  did  this  lady  express  her  views, 
indeed,  that  at  length  a  report  of  them  reached  even 
Morris's  inattentive  ears,  whereon  he  was  at  first  very 
angry  and  then  burst  out  laughing.  That  a  man  like 
Stephen  Layard  should  hope  to  marry  a  woman  like 
Stella  Fregelius  seemed  to  him  so  absurd  as  to  be 
almost  unnatural.  Yet  when  he  came  to  think  it  over 
quietly  he  was  constrained  to  admit  to  himself  that  the 
match  would  have  many  advantages  for  the  young  lady, 
whereof  the  first  and  foremost  were  that  Stephen  was 
very  rich,  and  although  slangy  and  without  education  in 
its  better  sense,  at  heart  by  no  means  a  bad  little  fellow. 
So  Morris  shrugged  his  shoulders,  shut  his  eyes,  con- 
tinued to  dispense  luncheons  and  afternoon  teas,  and 
though  with  an  uneasy  mind,  like  Stella  herself,  allowed 
things  to  take  their  chance. 

All  this  while,  however,  his  own  friendship  with  Stella 
grew  apace,  enhanced  as  it  was  in  no  small  degree  by 
the  fact  that  now  her  help  in  his  scientific  operations  had 
become  most  valuable.  Indeed,  it  appeared  that  he  was 
destined  to  owe  the  final  success  of  his  instrument  to 
the  assistance  of  women  who,  at  the  beginning,  at  any 
rate,  knew  little  of  its  principles.  Mary,  it  may  be 
remembered,  by  some  fortunate  chance,  made  the  sug- 
gestion as  to  the  substance  of  the  receiver,  which  turned 
the  aerophone  from  a  great  idea  into  a  practical  reality. 
Now  to  complete  the  work  it  was  Stella,  not  by  accident, 
but  after  careful  study  of  its  problem,  who  gave  the 


1 62  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

thought  that  led  to  the  removal  of  the  one  remaining 
obstacle  to  its  general  and  successful  establishment. 

To  test  this  new  development  of  the  famous  sound 
deflector  and  perfect  its  details,  scores  of  experiments 
were  needful,  most  of  which  he  and  she  carried  out 
together.  This  was  their  plan.  One  of  them  estab- 
lished him  or  herself  in  the  ruined  building  known  as 
the  Dead  Church,  while  the  other  took  up  a  position  in 
the  Abbey  workshop.  From  these  respective  points,  a 
distance  of  about  two  miles,  they  tested  the  machines  with 
results  that  day  by  day  grew  better  and  clearer,  till  at 
length,  under  these  conditions  they  were  almost  perfect. 

Strange  was  the  experience  and  great  the  triumph 
when  at  last  Morris,  seated  in  the  Abbey  with  his 
apparatus  before  him,  unconnected  with  its  twin  by  any 
visible  medium,  was  able  without  interruption  for  a 
whole  morning  to  converse  with  Stella  established  in  the 
Dead  Church. 

"  It  is  done,"  he  cried  in  unusual  exultation.  "  Now, 
if  I  die  to-morrow  it  does  not  matter." 

Instantly  came  the  answer  in  Stella's  voice. 

"  I  am  very  happy.  If  I  do  nothing  else  I  have 
helped  a  man  to  fame." 

Then  a  hitch  arose,  the  inevitable  hitch ;  it  was  found 
that,  in  certain  states  of  the  atmosphere,  and  sometimes 
at  fixed  hours  of  the  day,  the  sounds  coming  from  the 
receiver  were  almost  inaudible.  At  other  times  again 
the  motive  force  seemed  to  be  so  extraordinarily  active 
that,  the  sound  deflector  notwithstanding,  the  instru- 
ment captured  and  transmitted  a  thousand  noises  which 
are  not  to  be  heard  by  the  unobservant  listener,  or  in 
some  cases  by  any  human  ear. 


MR.   LAYAR&S   WOOING  163 

Weird  enough  these  noises  were  at  times.  Like  great 
sighs  they  came,  like  the  moan  of  the  breeze  brought 
from  an  infinite  distance,  like  mutterings  and  groanings 
arisen  from  the  very  bowels  of  the  earth.  Then  there 
were  the  splash  or  boom  of  the  waves,  the  piping  of  the 
sea-wind,  the  cry  of  curlew,  or  black-backed  gulls,  all 
mingled  in  one  strange  and  tangled  skein  of  sound  that 
choked  the  voice  of  the  speaker,  and  in  their  aggregate, 
bewildered  him  who  hearkened. 

These,  and  others  which  need  not  be  detailed,  were 
problems  that  had  to  be  met,  necessitating  many  more  ex- 
periments. Thus  it  came  about  that  through  most  of  the 
short  hours  of  winter  daylight  Morris  and  Stella  found 
themselves  at  their  respective  positions,  corresponding, 
or  trying  to  correspond,  through  the  aerophones.  If  the 
weather  was  bad,  or  very  cold,  Morris  went  to  the  Dead 
Church,  otherwise  that  post  was  allotted  to  Stella,  both 
because  it  was  more  convenient  that  Morris  should  stay 
in  his  laboratory,  and  by  her  own  choice. 

Two  principal  reasons  caused  her  to  prefer  to  pass  as 
much  of  her  time  as  was  possible  in  this  desolate  and 
unvisited  spot.  First,  because  Mr.  Layard  was  less 
likely  to  find  her  when  he  called,  and  secondly,  that  for 
her  it  had  a  strange  fascination.  Indeed,  she  loved  the 
place,  clothed  as  it  was  with  a  thousand  memories  of 
those  who  had  been  human  like  herself,  but  now  —  were 
not.  She  would  read  the  inscriptions  upon  the  chancel 
stones  and  study  the  coats-of-arms  and  names  of  those 
departed,  trying  to  give  to  each  lost  man  and  woman  a 
shape  and  character,  till  at  length  she  knew  all  the 
monuments  by  appearance  as  well  as  by  the  names 
inscribed  upon  them. 


1 64  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

One  of  these  dead,  oddly  enough,  had  been  named 
Stella  Ethel  Smythe,  daughter  of  Sir  Thomas  Smythe, 
whose  family  lived  at  the  old  hall  now  in  the  possession 
of  the  Layards.  This  Stella  had  died  at  the  age  of 
twenty-five  in  the  year  1741,  and  her  tombstone  recorded 
that  in  mind  she  was  clean  and  sweet,  and  in  body  beau- 
tiful. Also  at  the  foot  of  it  was  a  doggerel  couplet, 
written  probably  by  her  bereaved  father,  which  ran  : 

"  Though  here  my  Star  seems  set, 
I  know  'twill  light  me  yet." 

Stella,  the  live  Stella,  thought  these  simple  words  very 
touching,  and  pointed  them  out  to  Morris.  He  agreed 
with  her,  and  tried  in  the  records  of  the  parish  and  else- 
where to  discover  some  details  of  the  dead  girl's  life, 
but  quite  without  avail. 

"  There's  all  that's  left,"  he  said  one  day,  nodding  his 
head  at  the  tombstone.  "  The  star  is  quite  set." 

" '  I  know  'twill  light  me  yet,'  "  murmured  his  com- 
panion, as  she  turned  away  to  the  work  in  hand. 
"  Sometimes,"  she  went  on,  "  as  I  sit  here  at  dusk 
listening  to  all  the  strange  sounds  which  come  from 
that  receiver,  I  fancy  that  I  can  hear  Stella  and  her 
poor  father  talking  while  they  watch  me ;  only  I  cannot 
understand  their  language." 

"  Ah  ! "  said  Morris,  "  if  that  were  right  we  should 
have  found  a  means  of  communication  from  the  dead 
and  with  the  unseen  world  at  large." 

"Why  not?"  asked  Stella. 

"  I  don't  know,  I  have  thought  of  it,"  he  answered, 
and  the  subject  dropped. 


MR.  LAYAR&S   WOOING  1 65 

One  afternoon  Stella,  wrapped  in  thick  cloaks,  was 
seated  in  the  chancel  of  the  Dead  Church  attending  to 
the  instrument  which  stood  upon  the  stone  altar.  Morris 
had  not  wished  her  to  go  that  morning,  for  the  weather 
was  very  coarse,  and  snow  threatened  ;  but,  anticipating 
a  visit  from  Mr.  Layard,  she  insisted,  saying  that  she 
should  enjoy  the  walk.  Now  the  experiments  were  in 
progress,  and  going  beautifully.  In  order  to  test  the 
aerophones  fully  in  this  rough  weather,  Morris  and  Stella 
had  agreed  to  read  to  each  other  alternate  verses  from 
the  Book  of  Job,  beginning  at  the  thirty-eighth  chapter. 

"  '  Canst  thou  bind  the  sweet  influences  of  Pleiades,  or 
loose  the  bands  of  Orion  ? '  "  read  Stella  presently  in  her 
rich,  clear  voice. 

Instantly  from  two  miles  away  came  the  next  verse, 
the  sound  of  those  splendid  words  rolling  down  the  old 
church  like  echoes  of  some  lesson  read  generations  since. 

" '  Canst  thou  bring  forth  Mazzaroth  in  his  season,  or 
canst  thou  guide  Arcturus  with  his  sons  ? ' ' 

So  it  went  on  for  a  few  more  verses,  till  just  as  the 
instrument  was  saying,  " '  Who  hath  put  wisdom  in  the 
inward  parts,  or  who  hath  given  understanding  to 
the  heart  ? '  "  the  rude  door  in  the  brick  partition  opened, 
admitting  a  rush  of  wind  and  —  Stephen  Layard. 

The  little  man  sidled  up  nervously  to  where  Stella 
was  sitting  on  a  camp-stool  by  the  altar. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  "  said  Stella,  holding  out  her  hand, 
and  looking  surprised. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Fregelius  ?  What  —  what  are 
you  doing  in  this  dreadfully  cold  place  on  such  a  bitter 
day  ? " 

Before  she  could  answer  the  voice  of  Morris,  anxious 


1 66  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

and  irritated,  for  as  the  next  verse  did  not  follow  he 
concluded  that  something  had  gone  wrong  with  the 
apparatus,  rang  through  the  church  asking : 

" '  Who  hath  put  wisdom  in  the  inward  parts,  or  who 
hath  given  understanding  to  the  heart  ? ' ' 

"  Good  gracious,"  said  Mr.  Layard.  "  I  had  no  idea 
that  Monk  was  here ;  I  left  him  at  the  Abbey.  Where 
is  he?" 

"At  the  Abbey,"  answered  Stella,  as  for  the  second 
time  the  voice  of  Morris  rolled  out  the  question  from 
the  Book. 

"  I  don't  understand,"  said  Stephen,  beginning  to 
look  frightened ;  "  has  it  anything  to  do  with  his  electri- 
cal experiments  ? " 

Stella  nodded.    Then,  addressing  the  instrument,  said  : 

"  Please  stop  reading  for  a  while,  Mr.  Layard  is  call- 
ing here." 

"  Confound  him,"  came  the  swift  answer.  "  Let  me 
know  when  he  is  gone.  He  said  he  was  going  home," 
whereon  Stella  switched  off  before  worse  things 
happened. 

Mr.  Layard,  who  had  heard  these  words,  began  a 
confused  explanation  till  Stella  broke  in : 

"  Please  don't  apologise.  You  changed  your  mind, 
and  we  all  do  that ;  but  I  am  afraid  this  is  a  cold  place 
to  come  to." 

"  You  are  right  there.  Why  on  earth  do  you  sit  here 
so  long  ? " 

"  To  work,  Mr.  Layard." 

"Why  should  you  work?  I  thought  women  hated  it, 
and  above  all,  why  for  Monk  ?  Does  he  pay  you  ? " 

"  I  work  because  I  like  work,  and  shall  go  on  working 


MR.  LAYAR&S  WOOING  167 

till  I  die,  and  afterwards  I  hope ;  also,  these  experiments 
interest  me  very  much.  Mr.  Monk  does  not  pay  me.  I 
have  never  asked  him  to  do  so.  Indeed,  it  is  I  who  am 
in  his  debt  for  all  the  kindness  he  has  shown  to  my 
father  and  myself.  To  any  little  assistance  that  I  can 
give  him  he  is  welcome." 

"  I  see,"  said  Mr.  Layard ;  "  but  I  should  have  thought 
that  was  Mary  Porson's  job.  You  know  he  is  engaged 
to  her,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  Miss  Person  is  not  here ;  and  if  she  were, 
perhaps  she  would  not  care  for  this  particular  work." 

Then  came  a  pause,  which,  not  knowing  what  this 
awkward  silence  might  breed,  Stella  broke. 

"  I  suppose  you  saw  my  father,"  she  said ;  "  how  did 
you  find  him  looking  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  better,  I  thought ;  but  that  leg  of  his  still  seems 
very  bad."  Then,  with  a  gasp  and  a  great  effort, 
he  went  on :  "I  have  been  speaking  to  him  about 
you." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Stella,  looking  at  him  with  wondering 
eyes. 

"Yes,  and  he  says  that  if  —  it  suits  us  both,  he  is 
quite  willing ;  that,  in  fact,  he  would  be  very  pleased  to 
see  you  so  well  provided  for." 

Stella  could  not  say  that  she  did  not  understand,  the 
falsehood  was  too  obvious.  So  she  merely  went  on  look- 
ing, a  circumstance  from  which  Mr.  Layard  drew  false 
auguries. 

"You  know  what  I  mean,  don't  you  ?  "  he  jerked  out. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  I  mean  —  I  mean  that  I  love  you,  that  you  have 
given  me  what  this  horrid  thing  was  talking  about  just 


1 68  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

now — understanding  to  the  heart;  yes,  that's  it,  under- 
standing to  the  heart.  Will  you  marry  me,  Stella  ?  I 
will  make  you  a  good  husband,  and  it  isn't  a  bad  place, 
and  all  that,  and  though  your  father  says  he  has  little 
to  leave  you,  you  shall  be  treated  as  liberally  as  though 
you  were  a  lady  in  your  own  right." 

Stella  smiled  a  little. 

"  Will  you  marry  me  ? "  he  asked  again. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  I  must  answer  no,  Mr.  Layard." 

Then  the  poor  man  broke  out  into  a  rhapsody  of 
bitter  disappointment,  genuine  emotion,  and  passionate 
entreaty. 

"  It  is  no  use,  Mr.  Layard,"  said  Stella  at  last. 
"  Indeed,  I  am  much  obliged  to  you.  You  have  paid 
me  a  great  compliment,  but  it  is  not  possible  that  I 
should  become  your  wife,  and  the  sooner  that  is  clear 
the  better  for  us  both." 

"  Are  you  engaged  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  Mr.  Layard  ;  and  probably  I  never  shall  be.  I 
have  my  own  ideas  about  matrimony,  and  the  conditions 
under  which  I  would  undertake  it  are  not  at  all  likely 
ever  to  be  within  my  reach." 

Again  he  implored,  —  for  at  the  time  this  woman  really 
held  his  heart, — wringing  his  hands,  and,  indeed,  weep- 
ing in  the  agony  of  a  repulse  which  was  the  more  dread- 
ful because  it  was  quite  unexpected.  He  had  scarcely 
imagined  that  this  poor  clergyman's  daughter,  who  had 
little  but  her  looks  and  a  sweet  voice,  would  really  re- 
fuse the  best  match  for  twenty  miles  round,  nor  had  his 
conversation  with  her  father  suggested  to  his  mind  any 
such  idea. 

It  was  true  that  Mr.  Fregelius  had  given  him  no  abso- 


MR.  LAYAR&S   WOOING  169 

lute  encouragement;  he  had  said  that  personally  the 
marriage  would  be  very  pleasing  to  himself,  but  that  it 
was  a  matter  of  which  Stella  must  judge;  and  when 
asked  whether  he  would  speak  to  his  daughter,  he  had 
emphatically  declined.  Still,  Stephen  Layard  had  taken 
this  to  be  all  a  part  of  the  paternal  formula,  and  rejoiced, 
thinking  the  matter  as  good  as  settled.  Dreadful  in- 
deed, then,  was  it  to  him  when  he  found  that  he  was 
called  upon  to  contemplate  the  dull  obverse  of  his  shield 
of  faith,  and  not  its  bright  and  shining  face,  in  which 
he  had  seen  mirrored  so  clear  a  picture  of  perfect 
happiness. 

So  he  begged  on  piteously  enough,  till  at  last  Stella 
was  forced  to  stop  him  by  saying  as  gently  as  she 
could : 

"  Please  spare  us  both,  Mr.  Layard ;  I  have  given  my 
answer,  and  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  it  is  impossible  for 
me  to  go  back  upon  my  word." 

Then  a  sudden  fury  seized  him. 

"  You  are  in  love  with  somebody  else,"  he  said ; 
"  you  are  in  love  with  Morris  Monk ;  and  he  is  a 
villain,  when  he  is  engaged,  to  go  taking  you  too.  I 
know  it." 

"  Then,  Mr.  Layard,"  said  Stella,  striving  to  keep  her 
temper,  "  you  know  more  than  I  know  myself." 

"Very  likely,"  he  answered.  "I  never  said  you  knew 
it,  but  it's  true,  for  all  that.  I  feel  it  here  —  where  you 
will  feel  it  one  day,  to  your  sorrow  "  —  and  he  placed 
his  hand  upon  his  heart. 

A  sudden  terror  took  hold  of  her,  but  with  difficulty 
she  found  her  mental  balance. 

"  I  hoped,  Mr.  Layard,"  she  said,  "  that  we  might 


1 70  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

have  parted  friends ;  but  how  can  we  when  you  bring 
such  accusations  ? " 

"  I  retract  them,"  broke  in  the  distracted  man.  "You 
mustn't  think  anything  of  what  I  said;  it  is  only  the 
pain  that  has  made  me  mad.  For  God's  sake,  at  least 
let  us  part  friends,  for  then,  perhaps,  some  day  we  may 
come  together  again." 

Stella  shook  her  head  sadly,  and  gave  him  her  hand, 
which  he  covered  with  kisses.  Then,  reeling  in  his  gait 
like  one  drunken,  the  unhappy  suitor  departed  into  the 
falling  snow. 

Mechanically  Stella  switched  on  the  instrument,  and 
at  once  Morris's  voice  was  heard  asking: 

"  I  say,  hasn't  he  gone  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said. 

"  Thank  goodness  !  Why  on  earth  did  you  keep  him 
gossiping  all  that  time  ?  Now  then  — '  Who  can  num- 
ber the  clouds  in  wisdom '  " 

"  Not  Mr.  Layard  or  I,"  thought  Stella  sadly  to  her- 
self, as  she  called  back  the  answering  verse. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

Two  QUESTIONS,  AND  THE  ANSWER 

AT  length  the  light  began  to  fade,  and  for  that  day 
their  experiments  were  over.  In  token  of  their  con- 
clusion twice  Stella  rang  the  electric  warning  bell  which 
was  attached  to  the  aerophone,  and  in  some  mysterious 
manner  caused  the  bell  of  its  twin  instrument  to  ring 
also.  Then  she  packed  the  apparatus  in  its  box,  for,  with 
its  batteries,  it  was  too  heavy  and  too  delicate  to  be  car- 
ried conveniently,  locking  it  up,  and  left  the  church, 
which  she  also  locked  behind  her.  Outside  it  was  still 
snowing  fast,  but  softly,  for  the  wind  had  dropped,  and  a 
sharp  frost  was  setting  in,  causing  the  fallen  snow  to 
scrunch  beneath  her  feet.  About  half-way  along  the 
bleak  line  of  deserted  cliff  which  stretched  from  the 
Dead  Church  to  the  first  houses  of  Monksland,  she  saw 
the  figure  of  a  man  walking  swiftly  towards  her,  and 
knew  from  the  bent  head  and  broad,  slightly  stooping 
shoulders  that  it  was  Morris  coming  to  escort  her  home. 
Presently  they  met. 

"  Why  did  you  not  wait  for  me  ? "  he  asked  in  an 
irritated  voice,  "  I  told  you  I  was  coming,  and  you 
know  that  I  do  not  like  you  to  be  tramping  about  these 
lonely  cliffs  at  this  hour." 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you,"  she  answered,  smiling  that 
slow,  soft  smile  which  was  characteristic  of  her  when 

171 


172  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

she  was  pleased,  a  smile  that  seemed  to  be  born  in  her 
beautiful  eyes  and  thence  to  irradiate  her  whole  face ; 
"  but  it  was  growing  dreary  and  cold  there,  so  I  thought 
that  I  would  start." 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  I  forgot,  and,  what  is  more,  it 
is  very  selfish  of  me  to  keep  you  cooped  up  in  such  a 
place  upon  a  winter's  day.  Enthusiasm  makes  one  for- 
get everything." 

"  At  least  without  it  we  should  do  nothing ;  besides, 
please  do  not  pity  me,  for  I  have  never  been  happier  in 
my  life." 

"  I  am  most  grateful,"  he  said  earnestly.  "  I  don't 
know  what  I  should  have  done  without  you  through  this 
critical  time,  or  what  I  shall "  and  he  stopped. 

"  It  went  beautifully  to-day,  didn't  it  ? "  she  broke  in, 
as  though  she  had  not  heard  his  words. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  beyond  all  expectations.  We 
must  experiment  over  a  greater  distance,  and  then  if  the 
thing  still  works  I  shall  be  able  to  speak  with  my  critics 
in  the  gate.  You  know  I  have  kept  everything  as  dark 
as  possible  up  to  the  present,  for  it  is  foolish  to  talk  first 
and  fail  afterwards.  I  prefer  to  succeed  first  and  talk 
afterwards." 

"  What  a  triumph  it  will  be !  "  said  Stella.  "  All 
those  clever  scientists  will  arrive  prepared  to  mock, 
then  think  they  are  taken  in,  and  at  last  go  away  aston- 
ished to  write  columns  upon  columns  in  the  papers." 

"  And  after  that  ?  "  queried  Morris. 

"  Oh,  after  that,  honour  and  glory  and  wealth  and 
power  and  —  the  happy  ending.  Doesn't  it  sound 
nice  ? " 

"  Ye — es,  in  a  way.     But,"  he  added  with  energy,  "  it 


TWO  QUESTIONS,  AND   THE  ANSWER        173 

won't  come  off.  No,  not  the  aerophones,  they  are  right 
enough  I  believe,  but  all  the  rest  of  it." 

"  Why  not  ? " 

"  Because  it  is  too  much.  '  Happy  endings '  don't 
come  off.  The  happiness  lies  in  the  struggle,  you  know, 
—  an  old  saying,  but  quite  true.  Afterwards  something 
intervenes." 

"  To  have  struggled  happily  and  successfully  is  happi- 
ness in  itself.  Whatever  comes  afterwards  nothing  can 
take  that  away.  '  I  have  done  something ;  it  is  good ; 
it  cannot  be  changed ;  it  is  a  stone  built  for  ever  in 
the  pyramid  of  beauty,  or  knowledge,  or  advancement.' 
What  can  man  hope  to  say  more  at  the  last,  and  how  few 
live  to  say  it,  to  say  it  truly?  You  will  leave  a  great 
name  behind  you,  Mr.  Monk." 

"  I  shall  leave  my  work ;  that  is  enough  for  me,"  he 
answered. 

For  a  while  they  walked  in  silence ;  then  some  thought 
struck  him,  and  he  stopped  to  ask : 

"  Why  did  Layard  come  to  the  Dead  Church  to-day  ? 
He  said  he  was  going  home,  and  it  isn't  on  his  road." 

Stella  turned  her  head,  but,  even  in  that  faint  light,  not 
quickly  enough  to  prevent  him  seeing  a  sudden  flush 
change  the  pallor  of  her  face  to  the  rich  colour  of  her 
lips. 

"  To  call,  I  suppose  ;  or,"  correcting  herself,  "  perhaps 
from  curiosity." 

"  And  what  did  he  talk  about  ? " 

"Oh,  the  aerophone,  I  think;  I  don't  remember." 

"  That  must  be  a  story,"  he  said,  laughing.  "  I  always 
remember  Layard's  conversation  for  longer  than  I  want ; 
it  has  a  knack  of  impressing  itself  upon  me.  What 


1/4  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

was  it  ?  Cemetery  land,  church  debts,  the  new  drainage 
scheme,  or  something  equally  entrancing  and  con- 
fidential ? " 

Under  this  cross-examination  Stella  grew  desperate, 
unnecessarily,  perhaps,  and  said  in  a  voice  that  was 
almost  cross : 

"  I  cannot  tell  you;  please  let's  talk  of  something  else." 

Then  of  a  sudden  Morris  understood,  and,  like  a 
foolish  man,  at  once  jumped  to  a  conclusion  far  other 
than  the  truth.  Doubtless  Layard  had  gone  to  the 
church  to  propose  to  Stella,  and  she  had  accepted  him, 
or  half  accepted  him ;  the  confusion  of  her  manner 
told  its  own  tale.  A  new  and  strange  sensation  took 
possession  of  Morris.  He  felt  unwell ;  he  felt  angry ;  if 
the  aerophone  refused  to  work  at  all  to-morrow,  he  would 
care  nothing.  He  could  not  see  quite  clearly,  and  was 
not  altogether  sure  where  he  was  walking. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  in  a  cold  voice,  as  he 
recovered  himself;  "it  was  most  impertinent  of  me." 
He  was  going  to  add,  "  pray  accept  my  congratulations," 
but  fortunately,  or  unfortunately,  stopped  himself  in 
time. 

Stella  divined  something  of  what  was  passing  in  his 
mind ;  not  all,  indeed,  for  to  her  the  full  measure  of  his 
folly  would  have  been  incomprehensible.  For  a  mo- 
ment she  contemplated  an  explanation,  then  abandoned 
the  idea  because  she  could  find  no  words ;  because,  also, 
this  was  another  person's  secret,  and  she  had  no  right  to 
involve  an  honest  man,  who  had  paid  her  a  great  com- 
pliment, in  her  confidences.  So  she  said  nothing.  To 
Morris,  for  the  moment  at  any  rate,  a  conclusive  proof 
of  his  worst  suspicions. 


TWO   QUESTIONS,  AND   THE  ANSWER         175 

The  rest  of  that  walk  was  marked  by  unbroken  silence. 
Both  of  them  were  very  glad  when  it  was  finished. 

It  was  five  o'clock  when  they  reached  the  Abbey,  so 
that  there  were  two  hours  to  be  spent  before  it  was 
time  to  dress  for  dinner.  When  she  had  taken  off  her 
things  Stella  went  straight  to  her  father's  room  to  give 
him  his  tea.  By  now  Mr.  Fregelius  was  much  better, 
although  the  nature  of  his  injuries  made  it  imperative 
that  he  should  still  stay  in  bed. 

"  Is  that  you,  Stella  ? "  he  said,  in  his  high,  nervous 
voice,  and,  although  she  could  not  see  them  in  the 
shadow  of  the  curtain,  she  knew  that  his  quick  eyes 
were  watching  her  face  eagerly. 

"  Yes,  father,  I  have  brought  you  your  tea.  Are  you 
ready  for  it  ? " 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear.  Have  you  been  at  that  place 
—  what  do  you  call  it?  —  the  Dead  Church,  all  day?  " 

"Yes,  and  the  experiments  went  beautifully." 

"  Did  they,  did  they  indeed  ?  "  commented  her  father 
in  an  uninterested  voice.  The  fate  of  the  experiments 
did  not  move  him.  "Isn't  it  very  lonely  up  there  in 
that  old  church  ?  " 

"I  prefer  to  be  alone — generally." 

"  I  know,  I  know.  Forgive  me ;  but  you  are  a  very 
odd  woman,  my  dear." 

"Perhaps,  father;  but  not  more  so  than  those  before 
me,  am  I  ?  Most  of  them  were  a  little  different  from 
other  people,  I  have  been  told." 

"Quite  right,  Stella;  they  were  all  odd  women,  but  I 
think  that  you  are  quite  the  oddest  of  the  family." 
Then,  as  though  the  subject  were  disagreeable  to  him,  he 
added  suddenly :  "  Mr.  Layard  came  to  see  me  to-day." 


1/6  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

"  So  he  told  me,"  answered  Stella. 

"Oh,  you  have  met  him.  I  remember;  he  said  he 
should  call  in  at  the  Dead  Church,  as  he  had  something 
to  say  to  you." 

Stella  determined  to  get  the  conversation  over,  so  she 
forced  the  pace.  She  was  a  person  who  liked  to  have 
disagreeable  things  behind  her.  Drawing  herself  up, 
she  answered  steadily : 

"He  did  call  in,  and  —  he  said  it." 

"What,  my  dear,  what?"  asked  Mr.  Fregelius  in- 
nocently. 

"  He  asked  me  to  marry  him,  father ;  I  think  he  told 
me  with  your  consent." 

Mr.  Fregelius,  auguring  the  very  best  from  this  open- 
ness, answered  in  tones  which  he  could  not  prevent  from 
betraying  an  unseemly  joy. 

"  Quite  true,  Stella ;  I  told  him  to  go  on  and  prosper ; 
and  really  I  hope  he  has  prospered." 

"  Yes,"  said  Stella  reflectively. 

"Then,  my  dear  love,  am  I  to  understand  that  you  are 
engaged  to  him?" 

"Engaged  to  him!     Certainly  not,"  she  answered. 

"  Then,"  snapped  out  her  justly  indignant  parent, "  how 
in  the  name  of  Heaven  has  he  prospered?" 

"By  my  refusing  him,  of  course.  We  should  never 
have  suited  each  other  at  all;  he  would  have  been  miser- 
able if  I  had  married  him." 

Mr.  Fregelius  groaned  in  bitterness  of  spirit. 

"  Oh,  Stella,  Stella,"  he  cried,  "what  a  disappointment! " 

"Why  should  you  be  disappointed,  father  dear?"  she 
asked  gently. 

"Why?     You  stand  there  and  ask  why,  when  I  hear 


TWO  QUESTIONS,  AND   THE  ANSWER        177 

that  my  daughter,  who  will  scarcely  have  a  sixpence — 
or  at  least  very  few  of  them — has  refused  a  young  man 
with  between  seventeen  and  eighteen  thousand  pounds 
a  year — that's  his  exact  income,  for  he  told  me  himself, 
a  most  estimable  churchman,  who  would  have  been  a 
pillar  of  strength  to  me,  a  man  whom  I  should  have 

chosen  out  of  ten  thousand  as  a  son-in-law "  and 

he  ceased,  overwhelmed. 

"Father,  I  am  sorry  that  you  are  sorry,  but  it  is 
strange  you  should  understand  me  so  little  after  all  these 
years,  that  you  could  for  one  moment  think  that  I  should 
marry  Mr.  Layard." 

"And  why  not,  pray?     Are  you  better  born 

"Yes,"  interrupted  Stella,  whose  one  pride  was  that 
of  her  ancient  lineage. 

"  I  didn't  mean  that.  I  meant  better  bred  and  gener- 
ally superior  to  him  ?  You  talk  as  though  you  were  of 
a  different  clay." 

"  Perhaps  the  clay  is  the  same,"  said  Stella,  "  but  the 
mind  is  not." 

"  Oh,  there  it  is  again,  spiritual  and  intellectual  pride, 
which  causes  you  to  set  yourself  above  your  fellows,  and 
in  the  end  will  be  your  ruin.  It  has  made  a  lonely 
woman  of  you  for  years,  and  it  will  do  worse  than  that. 
It  will  turn  you  into  an  old  maid  —  if  you  live,"  he  added, 
as  though  shaken  by  some  sudden  memory. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Stella,  "  I  am  not  frightened  at  the 
prospect.  I  daresay  that  I  shall  have  a  little  money, 
and  at  the  worst  I  can  always  earn  a  living ;  my  voice 
would  help  me  to  it,  if  nothing  else  does.  Father,  dear, 
you  mustn't  be  vexed  with  me;  and  pray — pray  do  under- 
stand that  no  earthly  thing  would  make  me  marry  a  man 


1/8  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

whom  I  dislike  rather  than  otherwise;  who,  at  least,  is  not 
a  mate  for  me,  merely  because  he  could  give  me  a  fine 
house  to  live  in,  and  treat  me  luxuriously.  What  would 
be  the  good  of  such  things  to  me  if  I  knew  that  I  had 
tarnished  myself  and  violated  my  instincts  ? " 

"  You  talk  like  a  book — you  talk  like  a  book,"  muttered 
the  old  gentleman.  "  But  I  know  that  the  end  of  it  will  be 
wretchedness  for  everybody.  People  who  go  on  as  you 
do  about  instincts,  and  fine  feelings,  and  all  that  stuff, 
are  just  the  ones  who  get  into  some  dreadful  mess  at  last. 
I  tell  you  that  such  ideas  are  some  of  the  devil's  best 
baits." 

Stella  began  to  grow  indignant. 

"  Do  you  think,  father,  that  you  ought  to  talk  to  me 
quite  like  that  ? "  she  asked.  "  Don't  you  know  me  well 
enough  to  be  sure  that  I  should  never  get  into  what  you 
call  a  mess  —  at  least,  not  in  the  way  I  suppose  you 
mean  ?  My  heart  and  thought  are  my  own,  and  I  shall 
be  prepared  to  render  account  of  them;  for  the  rest, 
you  need  not  be  afraid." 

"  I  didn't  mean  that  —  I  didn't  mean  anything  of  the 
sort " 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  broke  in  Stella.  "  It  would 
scarcely  have  been  kind,  especially  as  I  am  no  longer  a 
child  who  needs  to  be  warned  against  the  dangers  of  the 
world." 

"What  I  did  mean  is  that  you  are  an  enigma;  that  I 
am  frightened  about  you ;  that  you  are  no  companion ; 
because  your  thoughts  —  yes,  and  at  times  your  face, 
too  —  seem  unnatural,  unearthly,  and  separate  you  from 
others,  as  they  have  separated  you  from  this  poor  young 
man." 


TWO   QUESTIONS,  AND  THE  ANSWER         179 

"  I  am  what  I  was  made,"  answered  Stella  with  a 
little  smile,  "  and  I  seek  company  where  I  can  find  it. 
Some  love  the  natural,  some  the  spiritual,  and  each 
receive  from  them  their  good.  Why  should  they  blame 
one  another  ? " 

"  Mad,"  muttered  her  father  to  himself  as  she  left  the 
room.  "  Mad  as  she  is  charming  and  beautiful ;  or,  if 
not  mad,  at  least  quite  impracticable  and  unfitted  for  the 
world.  What  a  disappointment  to  me  —  what  a  bitter 
disappointment!  Well,  I  should  be  used  to  them  by 
now." 

Meanwhile  Morris  was  in  his  workshop  in  the  old 
chapel  entering  up  his  record  of  the  day's  experiments, 
which  done,  he  drew  his  chair  to  the  stove  and  fell  into 
thought.  Somehow  the  idea  of  the  engagement  of  Miss 
Fregelius  to  Stephen  Layard  was  not  agreeable  to  him ; 
probably  because  he  did  not  care  about  the  young  man. 
Yet,  now  that  he  came  to  think  of  it  quietly,  in  all  her 
circumstances  it  would  be  an  admirable  arrangement, 
and  the  offer  undoubtedly  was  one  which  she  had  been 
wise  to  accept.  On  the  whole,  such  a  marriage  would 
be  as  happy  as  marriages  generally  are.  The  man  was 
honest,  the  man  was  young  and  rich,  and  very  soon  the 
man  would  be  completely  at  the  disposal  of  his  brilliant 
and  beautiful  wife. 

Personally  he,  Morris,  would  lose  a  friend,  since  a 
woman  cannot  marry  and  remain  the  friend  of  another 
man.  That,  however,  would  probably  have  happened  in 
any  case,  and  to  object  on  this  account,  even  in  his  secret 
heart,  would  be  abominably  selfish.  Indeed,  what  right 
had  he  even  to  consider  the  matter  ?  The  young  lady 
had  come  into  his  life  very  strangely,  and  made  a  curious 


180  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

impression  upon  him ;  she  was  now  going  out  of  it  by 
ordinary  channels,  and  soon  nothing  but  the  impression 
would  remain.  It  was  proper,  natural,  and  the  way  of 
the  world ;  there  was  nothing  more  to  be  said. 

Somehow  he  was  in  a  dreary  mood,  and  everything 
bored  him.  He  fetched  Mary's  last  letter.  There  was 
nothing  in  it  but  some  chit-chat,  except  the  postscript, 
which  was  rather  longer  than  the  letter,  and  ran  : 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  the  young  lady  whom  you  fished  up 
out  of  the  sea  is  such  an  assistance  to  you  in  your  experi- 
ments. I  gather  from  what  I  hear — although  you  haven't 
mentioned  the  fact — that  she  is  as  beautiful  as  she  is 
charming,  and  that  she  sings  wonderfully.  She  must 
be  something  remarkable,  I  am  sure,  because  Eliza 
Layard  evidently  detests  her,  and  says  that  she  is  trying 
to  ensnare  the  affections  of  that  squire  of  dames,  her 
brother  Stephen,  now  temporarily  homeless  after  a  visit 
to  Jane  Rose.  What  will  you  do  when  you  have  to  get 
on  without  her  ?  I  am  afraid  you  must  accustom  your- 
self to  the  idea,  unless  she  would  like  to  make  a  third  in 
the  honeymoon  party.  Joking  apart,  I  am  exceedingly 
grateful  to  her  for  all  the  help  she  has  given  you,  and, 
dear,  dear  Morris,  more  delighted  than  I  can  tell  you  to 
learn  that  after  all  your  years  of  patient  labour  you 
believe  success  to  be  absolutely  within  sight. 

"  My  father,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  is  no  better ;  indeed, 
although  the  doctors  deny  it,  I  believe  he  is  worse,  and 
I  see  no  prospect  of  our  getting  away  from  here  at 
present.  However,  don't  let  that  bother  you,  and  above 
all,  don't  think  of  coming  out  to  this  place  which  makes 
you  miserable,  and  where  you  can't  work.  What  a  queer 


TWO   QUESTIONS,  AND   THE  ANSWER         181 

manage  you  must  be  at  the  Abbey  now!  You  and  the 
Star  who  has  risen  from  the  ocean — she  ought  to  have 
been  called  Venus — tete-a-tete,  and  the,  I  gather,  rather 
feeble  and  uninteresting  old  gentleman  in  bed  upstairs. 
I  should  like  to  see  you  when  you  didn't  know.  Why 
don't  you  invent  a  machine  to  enable  people  at  a  distance 
to  see  as  well  as  to  hear  each  other  ?  It  would  be  very 
popular  and  bring  Society  to  utter  wreck.  Does  the 
Northern  star  —  she  is  Danish,  isn't  she  ?  —  make  good 
coffee,  and  how,  oh !  how  does  she  get  on  with  the  cook?  " 

Morris  put  down  the  letter  and  laughed  aloud.  Mary 
was  as  amusing  as  ever,  and  he  longed  to  see  her  again, 
especially  as  he  was  convinced  that  she  was  really 
bored  out  there  at  Beaulieu,  with  Mr.  Porson  sick,  and 
his  father  very  much  occupied  with  his  own  affairs.  In 
a  moment  he  made  up  his  mind ;  he  would  go  out  and 
see  her.  Of  course,  he  could  ill  spare  the  time,  but  for 
the  present  the  more  pressing  of  his  experiments  were 
completed,  and  he  could  write  up  his  "  data "  there. 
Anyway,  he  would  put  in  a  fortnight  at  Beaulieu,  and, 
what  is  more,  start  to-morrow  if  it  could  be  managed. 

He  went  to  the  table  and  began  a  letter  to  Mary 
announcing  that  she  might  expect  to  see  him  sometime 
on  the  day  that  it  reached  her.  When  he  had  got  so  far 
as  this  he  remembered  that  the  dressing  bell  had  already 
rung  some  minutes,  and  ran  upstairs  to  change  his  clothes. 
As  he  fastened  his  tie  he  thought  to  himself  sadly 
that  this  would  be  his  last  dinner  with  Stella  Fregelius, 
and  as  he  brushed  his  hair  he  determined  that  unless 
she  had  other  wishes,  it  should  be  as  happy  as  it  could  be 
made.  He  would  like  this  final  meal  to  be  the  pleasant- 


1 82  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

est  of  all  their  meals,  and  although,  of  course,  he  had  no 
right  to  form  an  opinion  on  the  matter,  he  thought  that 
perhaps  she  might  like  it,  too.  They  were  going  to 
part,  to  enter  on  different  walks  of  life  —  for  now,  be 
it  said,  he  had  quite  convinced  himself  that  she  was 
engaged  —  so  let  their  parting  memories  of  each  other 
be  as  agreeable  as  possible. 

Meanwhile,  Stella  also  had  her  reflections.  Her  con- 
versation with  her  father  had  troubled  her,  more,  per- 
haps, than  her  remarks  might  have  suggested.  There 
was  little  between  this  pair  except  the  bond  of  blood, 
which  sometimes  seems  to  be  so  curiously  accidental, 
so  absolutely  devoid  of  influence  in  promoting  mutual 
sympathies,  or  in  opening  the  door  to  any  deep  and 
real  affection.  Still,  notwithstanding  this  lack  of  true 
intimacy,  Stella  loved  her  father  as  she  felt  that  he 
loved  her,  and  it  gave  her  pain  to  be  forced  to  cross  his 
wishes.  She  knew  with  what  a  fierce  desire,  although 
he  was  ashamed  to  express  all  its  intensity,  he  desired 
that  she  should  accept  this,  the  first  chance  of  wealthy 
and  successful  marriage  that  had  come  her  way,  and  the 
anguish  which  her  absolute  refusal  must  have  entailed 
upon  his  heart. 

Of  course,  it  was  very  worldly  of  him,  and  therefore 
reprehensible ;  yet  to  a  great  extent  she  could  sympa- 
thise with  his  disappointment.  At  bottom  he  was  a 
proud  man,  although  he  repressed  his  pride  and  kept  it 
secret.  He  was  an  ambitious  man,  also,  and  his  lot 
had  been  confined  to  the  humble  tasks,  absolutely 
unrecognised  beyond  his  parish,  of  a  remotely-placed 
country  parson.  Moreover,  his  family  had  been  rich ; 
he  had  been  brought  up  to  believe  that  he  himself 


TWO   QUESTIONS,  AND   THE  ANSWER        183 

would  be  rich,  and  then,  owing  to  certain  circumstances, 
was  doomed  to  pass  his  days  in  comparative  poverty. 

Even  death  had  laid  a  heavy  hand  on  him ;  she  was 
the  last  of  her  race,  and  she  knew  he  earnestly  desired 
that  she  should  marry  and  bear  children  so  that  it 
might  not  become  extinct.  And  now  this  chance, 
this  princely  chance,  which,  from  his  point  of  view, 
seemed  to  fill  every  possible  condition,  had  come  un- 
awares, like  a  messenger  from  Heaven,  and  she  refused 
its  entertainment.  Looked  at  through  his  eyes  the 
position  was  indeed  cruel. 

Yet,  deeply  as  she  sympathised  with  him  in  his  disap- 
pointment, Stella  never  for  one  moment  wavered  in  her 
determination.  Marry  Mr.  Layard  !  Her  blood  shrank 
back  to  her  heart  at  the  very  thought,  and  then  rushed 
to  her  neck  and  bosom  in  a  flood  of  shame.  No,  she 
was  sorry,  but  that  was  impossible,  a  thing  which  no 
woman  should  be  asked  to  do  against  her  will. 

The  subject  wearied  her,  but  as  brooding  on  it  could 
not  mend  matters,  she  dismissed  it  from  her  mind,  and 
turned  her  thoughts  to  Morris.  Why,  she  did  not  know, 
but  something  had  come  between  them  ;  he  was  vexed 
with  her,  and  what  was  more,  disappointed ;  she  could 
feel  it  well  enough,  and — she  found  his  displeasure  pain- 
ful. What  had  she  done  wrong,  how  had  she  offended 
him  ?  Surely  it  could  not  be  —  and  once  again  that  red 
blush  spread  itself  over  face  and  bosom.  He  could  not 
believe  that  she  had  accepted  the  man  !  He  could  never 
have  so  grossly  misunderstood  her,  her  nature,  her 
ideas,  everything  about  her  !  And  yet  who  knew  what 
he  would  or  would  not  believe  ?  In  some  ways,  as  she 
had  already  discovered,  Mr.  Monk  was  curiously  simple. 


1 84  STELLA  FREGELJUS 

How  could  she  tell  him  the  truth  without  using  words 
which  she  did  not  desire  to  speak  ?  Here  instinct  came 
to  her  aid.  It  might  be  done  perhaps  by  making  herself 
as  agreeable  to  him  as  possible,  for  surely  he  must  know 
that  no  girl  would  do  her  best  to  please  one  man  when 
she  had  just  promised  herself  to  another.  So  it  came 
about  that  quite  innocently  Stella  determined  to  allay 
her  host's  misgivings  by  this  doubtful  and  dangerous 
expedient. 

To  begin  with,  she  put  on  her  best  dress — a  low  bodice 
of  black  silk  relieved  with  white  and  a  single  scarlet 
rose  from  the  hothouse.  Round  her  neck  also,  fastened 
by  a  thin  chain,  she  wore  a  large  blood-red  carbuncle 
fashioned  like  a  heart,  and  about  her  slender  waist  a 
quaint  girdle  of  ancient  Danish  silver,  two  of  the  orna- 
ments which  she  had  saved  from  the  shipwreck.  Her 
dark  and  waving  hah*  she  parted  in  the  middle  after  a 
new  fashion,  tying  its  masses  in  a  heavy  knot  at  the 
back  of  her  head,  and  thus  adorned  descended  to  the 
library  where  Morris  was  awaiting  her. 

He  stood  leaning  over  the  fire  with  his  back  towards 
her,  but  hearing  the  sweep  of  a  skirt  turned  round,  and 
as  his  eyes  fell  upon  her,  started  a  little.  Never  till  he 
saw  her  thus  had  he  known  how  beautiful  Stella  was 
at  times.  Quite  without  design  his  eyes  betrayed  his 
thought,  but  with  his  lips  he  said  merely  as  he  offered 
her  his  arm, — 

"What  a  pretty  dress!  Did  it  come  out  of  North- 
wold  ? " 

"  The  material  did ;  I  made  it  up,  and  I  am  glad  that 
you  think  it  nice." 

This  was  a  propitious  beginning,  and  the  dinner  that 


TWO   QUESTIONS,  AND   THE  ANSWER        18$ 

followed  did  not  belie  its  promise.  The  conversation 
turned  upon  one  of  the  Norse  sagas  that  Stella  had 
translated,  for  which  Morris  had  promised  to  try  to  find  a 
publisher.  Then  abandoning  the  silence  and  reserve 
which  were  habitual  to  him  he  began  to  talk,  asking  her 
about  her  work  and  her  past.  She  answered  him  freely 
enough,  telling  him  of  her  school  days  in  Denmark,  of 
her  long  holiday  visits  to  the  old  Danish  grandmother, 
whose  memory  stretched  back  through  three  genera- 
tions, and  whose  mind  was  stored  with  traditions  of  men 
and  days  now  long  forgotten.  This  particular  saga, 
she  said,  had,  for  instance,  never  been  written  in  its 
entirety  till  she  took  it  down  from  the  old  dame's  lips, 
much  as  in  the  fifteenth  century  the  Iceland  sagas  were 
recorded  by  Snorro  Sturleson  and  others.  Even  the 
traditional  music  of  the  songs  as  they  were  sung  centu- 
ries ago  she  had  received  from  her  with  their  violin 
accompaniments. 

"  I  have  one  in  the  house,"  broke  in  Morris,  "  a  violin 
—  rather  a  good  instrument;  I  used  to  play  a  little  when 
I  was  young.  I  wish,  if  you  don't  mind,  that  you  would 
sing  them  to  me  after  dinner." 

"  I  will  try  if  you  like,"  she  answered,  "  but  I  don't 
know  how  I  shall  get  on,  for  my  own  old  fiddle,  to  which  I 
am  accustomed,  went  to  the  bottom  with  a  lot  of  other 
things  in  that  unlucky  shipwreck.  You  know  we  came 
by  sea  because  it  seemed  so  cheap,  and  that  was  the  end 
of  our  economy.  Fortunately,  all  our  heavy  baggage 
and  furniture  were  not  ready,  and  escaped." 

"I  do  not  call  it  unlucky,"  said  Morris  with  grave 
courtesy,  "  since  it  gave  me  the  honour  of  your  acquain- 
tance ;  or  perhaps  I  may  say  of  your  friendship." 


1 86  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  looking  pleased ;  "  certainly  you 
may  say  of  my  friendship.  It  is  owing  to  the  man  who 
saved  my  life,  is  it  not,  —  with  a  great  deal  more  that 
I  can  never  pay  ?  " 

"  Don't  speak  of  it,"  he  said.  "  That  midnight  sail  was 
my  one  happy  inspiration,  my  one  piece  of  real  good 
luck." 

"  Perhaps,"  and  she  sighed,  "that  is,  for  me,  though 
who  can  tell  ?  I  have  often  wondered  what  made  you 
do  it,  there  was  so  little  to  go  on." 

"  I  have  told  you,  inspiration,  pure  inspiration." 

"  And  what  sent  the  inspiration,  Mr.  Monk  ? " 

"  Fate,  I  suppose." 

"  Yes,  I  think  it  must  be  what  we  call  fate  —  if  it 
troubles  itself  about  so  small  a  thing  as  the  life  of  one 
woman." 

Then,  to  change  the  subject,  she  began  to  talk  of  the 
Northumberland  moors  and  mountains,  and  of  their 
years  of  rather  dreary  existence  among  them,  till 
at  length  it  was  time  to  leave  the  table.  This  they 
did  together,  for  even  then  Morris  drank  very  little 
wine. 

"  May  I  get  you  the  violin,  and  will  you  sing  ?  "  he 
asked  eagerly,  when  they  reached  the  library. 

"  If  you  wish  it  I  will  try." 

"  Then  come  to  the  chapel ;  there  is  a  good  fire,  and 
it  is  put  away  there." 

Presently  they  were  in  the  ancient  place,  where 
Morris  produced  the  violin  from  the  cupboard,  and 
having  set  a  new  string  began  to  tune  it. 

"  That  is  a  very  good  instrument,"  said  Stella,  her 
eyes  shining,  "you  don't  know  what  you  have  brought 


TWO   QUESTIONS,  AND  THE  ANSWER        187 

upon  yourself.  Playing  the  violin  is  my  pet  insanity, 
and  once  or  twice  since  I  have  been  here,  when  I  wanted 
it,  I  have  cried  over  the  loss  of  mine,  especially  as  I 
can't  afford  to  buy  another.  Oh !  what  a  lovely  night 
it  is ;  look  at  the  full  moon  shining  on  the  sea  and  snow. 
I  never  remember  her  so  bright ;  and  the  stars,  too ;  they 
glitter  like  great  diamonds." 

"It  is  the  frost,"  answered  Morris.  "Yes,  every- 
thing is  beautiful  to-night." 

Stella  took  the  violin,  played  a  note  or  two,  then 
screwed  up  the  strings  to  her  liking. 

"Do  you  really  wish  me  to  sing,  Mr.  Monk?"  she 
asked. 

"Of  course ;  more  than  I  can  tell  you." 

"  Then,  will  you  think  me  very  odd  if  I  ask  you  to  turn 
out  the  electric  lamps  ?  I  can  sing  best  so.  You  stand 
by  the  fire,  so  that  I  can  see  my  audience;  the  moon 
through  this  window  will  give  me  all  the  light  I  want." 

He  obeyed,  and  now  she  was  but  an  ethereal  figure, 
with  a  patch  of  red  at  her  heart,  and  a  line  of  glimmer- 
ing white  from  the  silver  girdle  beneath  her  breast,  on 
whose  pale  face  the  moonbeams  poured  sweetly.  For 
a  while  she  stood  thus,  and  the  silence  was  heavy  in 
that  beautiful,  dismantled  place  of  prayer.  Then  she 
lifted  the  violin,  and  from  the  first  touch  of  the  bow 
Morris  knew  that  he  was  in  the  presence  of  a  mistress 
of  one  of  the  most  entrancing  of  the  arts.  Slow  and 
sweet  came  the  plaintive,  penetrating  sounds,  that 
seemed  to  pass  into  his  heart  and  thrill  his  every  nerve. 
Now  they  swelled  louder,  now  they  almost  died  away ; 
and  now,  only  touching  the  strings  from  time  to  time, 
she  began  to  sing  in  her  rich,  contralto  voice.  He  could 


1 88  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

not  understand  the  words,  but  their  burden  was  clear 
enough ;  they  were  a  lament,  the  lament  of  some  sorrow- 
ing woman,  the  sweet  embodiment  of  an  ancient  and 
forgotten  grief  thus  embalmed  in  heavenly  music. 

It  was  done ;  the  echoes  of  the  following  notes  of  the 
violin  fainted  and  died  among  the  carven  angels  of  the 
roof.  It  was  done,  and  Morris  sighed  aloud. 

"  How  can  I  thank  you  ? "  he  said.  "  I  knew  that 
you  were  a  musician,  but  not  that  you  had  such  genius. 
To  listen  to  you  makes  a  man  feel  very  humble." 

She  laughed.  "  The  voice  is  a  mere  gift,  for  which 
no  one  deserves  credit,  although,  of  course,  it  can  be 
improved." 

"  If  so,  what  of  the  accompaniment?" 

"That  is  different;  that  comes  from  the  heart  and 
hard  work.  Do  you  know  that  when  I  was  under  my 
old  master  out  in  Denmark,  who  in  his  time  was  one  of 
the  finest  of  violinists  in  the  north  of  Europe,  I  often 
played  for  five  and  sang  for  two  hours  a  day  ?  Also,  I 
have  never  let  the  thing  drop;  it  has  been  the  consola- 
tion and  amusement  of  a  somewhat  lonely  life.  So,  by 
this  time,  I  ought  to  understand  my  art,  although  there 
remains  much  to  be  learnt." 

"  Understand  it!  Why,  you  could  make  a  fortune  on 
the  stage." 

"  A  living,  perhaps,  if  my  voice  will  bear  the  con- 
tinual strain.  I  daresay  that  some  time  I  shall  drift  there 
—  for  the  living  —  not  because  I  like  the  trade  or  have 
any  wish  for  popular  success.  It  is  a  fact  that  I 
had  far  rather  sing  alone  to  you  here  to-night,  and  know 
that  you  are  pleased,  than  be  cheered  by  a  whole  opera 
house  full  of  strange  people." 


TWO  QUESTIONS,  AND  THE  ANSWER        189 

"And  I  —  oh,  I  cannot  explain!  Sing  on,  sing  all 
you  can,  for  to-morrow  I  must  go  away." 

"  Go  away!  "  she  faltered. 

"  Yes ;  I  will  explain  to  you  afterwards.  But  please 
sing  while  I  am  here  to  listen." 

The  words  struck  heavy  on  her  heart,  numbing  it  — 
why,  she  knew  not.  For  a  moment  she  felt  helpless,  as 
though  she  could  neither  sing  nor  play.  She  did  not 
wish  him  to  go ;  she  did  not  wish  him  to  go.  Her  intel- 
lect came  to  her  aid.  Why  should  he  go  ?  Heaven  had 
given  her  power,  and  this  man  could  feel  its  weight. 
Would  it  not  suffice  to  keep  him  from  going?  She 
would  try ;  she  would  play  and  sing  as  she  had  never 
done  before ;  sing  till  his  heart  was  soft,  play  till  his  feet 
had  no  strength  to  wander  beyond  the  sound  of  the 
sweet  notes  her  art  could  summon  from  this  instrument 
of  strings  and  wood. 

So  again  she  began,  and  played  on,  and  on,  and  on, 
from  time  to  time  letting  the  bow  fall,  to  sing  in  a  flood  of 
heavenly  melody  that  seemed  by  nature  to  fall  from  her 
lips,  note  after  note,  as  dew  or  honey  fall  drop  by  drop 
from  the  calyx  of  some  perfect  flower.  How  long  did 
she  play  and  sing  those  sad,  mysterious  siren  songs? 
They  never  knew.  The  moon  travelled  on  its  appointed 
course,  and  as  its  beams  passed  away  gradually  that 
divine  musician  grew  dimmer  to  his  sight.  Now  only 
the  stars  threw  their  faint  light  about  her,  but  still  she 
played  on,  and  on,  and  on.  The  music  swelled,  it  told 
of  dead  and  ancient  wars,  "  where  all  day  long  the  noise 
of  battle  rolled  " ;  it  rose  shrill  and  high,  and  in  it  rang 
the  scream  of  the  Valkyries  preparing  the  feast  of  Odin. 
It  was  low,  and  sad,  and  tender,  the  voice  of  women 


190  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

mourning  for  their  dead.  It  changed ;  it  grew  un- 
earthly, spiritualised,  such  music  as  those  might  use 
who  welcome  souls  to  their  long  home.  Lastly,  it  be- 
came rich  and  soft  and  far  as  the  echo  of  a  dream,  and 
through  it  could  be  heard  sighs  and  the  broken  words 
of  love,  that  slowly  fell  away  and  melted  as  into  the 
nothingness  of  some  happy  sleep. 

The  singer  was  weary;  her  fingers  could  no  longer 
guide  the  bow ;  her  voice  grew  faint.  For  a  moment, 
she  stood  still,  looking  in  the  flicker  of  the  fire  and  the 
pale  beams  of  the  stars  like  some  searcher  returned 
from  heaven  to  earth.  Then,  half  fainting,  down  she 
sank  upon  a  chair. 

Morris  turned  on  the  lamps,  and  looked  at  this  fair 
being,  this  chosen  home  of  Music,  who  lay  before  him 
like  a  broken  lily.  Then  back  into  his  heart  with  a 
chilling  shock  came  the  thought  that  this  woman,  to 
him  at  least  the  most  beautiful  and  gifted  his  eyes  had 
seen,  had  promised  herself  in  marriage  to  Stephen  Lay- 
ard ;  that  she,  her  body,  her  mind,  her  music  —  all  that 
made  her  the  Stella  Fregelius  whom  he  knew  —  were  the 
actual  property  of  Stephen  Layard.  Could  it  be  true  ? 
Was  it  not  possible  that  he  had  made  some  mistake  ?  that 
he  had  misunderstood  ?  A  burning  desire  came  upon 
him  to  know,  to  know  before  he  went,  and  upon  the 
forceful  impulse  of  that  moment  he  did  what  at  any 
other  time  would  have  filled  him  with  horror.  He  asked 
her ;  the  words  broke  from  his  lips ;  he  could  not  help 
them. 

"Is  it  true,"  he  said,  with  something  like  a  groan, 
"  can  it  be  true  that  you  — yoii  are  really  going  to 
marry  that  man  ?  " 


TWO   QUESTIONS,  AND   THE  ANSWER         191 

Stella  sat  up  and  looked  at  him.  So  she  had  guessed 
aright.  She  made  no  pretence  of  fencing  with  him, 
or  of  pretending  that  she  did  not  know  to  whom  he 
referred. 

"  Are  you  mad  to  ask  me  such  a  thing  ? "  she 
asked,  with  a  strange  break  in  her  voice. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  began. 

She  stamped  her  foot  upon  the  ground. 

"  Oh !  "  she  said,  "  it  hurts  me,  it  hurts  —  from  my  father 
I  understood,  but  that  you  should  think  it  possible  that 
I  would  sell  myself — I  tell  you  that  it  hurts,"  and  as 
she  spoke  two  large  tears  began  to  roll  from  her  lovely, 
pleading  eyes. 

"  Then  you  mean  that  you  refused  him  ?  " 

"What  else?" 

"  Thank  you.  Of  course,  I  have  no  right  to  interfere, 
but  forgive  me  if  I  say  that  I  cannot  help  feeling  glad. 
Even  if  it  is  taken  on  the  ground  of  wealth  you  can 
easily  make  as  much  money  as  you  want  without  him," 
and  he  glanced  at  the  violin  which  lay  beside  her. 

She  made  no  reply,  the  subject  seemed  to  have  passed 
from  her  mind.  But  presently  she  lifted  her  head  again, 
and  in  her  turn  asked  a  question. 

"Did  you  not  say  that  you  are  going  away  to- 
morrow ? " 

Then  something  happened  to  the  heart  and  brain  and 
tongue  of  Morris  Monk  so  that  he  could  not  speak  the 
thing  he  wished.  He  meant  to  answer  a  monosyllable 
"  Yes,"  but  in  its  place  he  replied  with  a  whole  sentence. 

"I  was  thinking  of  doing  so;  but  after  all  I  do  not 
know  that  it  will  be  necessary ;  especially  in  the  middle 
of  our  experiments." 


192  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

Stella  said  nothing,  not  a  single  word.  Only  she 
found  her  handkerchief,  and  without  in  the  least  attempt- 
ing to  hide  them,  there  before  his  eyes  wiped  the  two 
tears  off  her  face,  first  one  and  then  the  other. 

This  done  she  held  out  her  hand  to  him  and  left  the 
room. 


CHAPTER  XIV 
THE  RETURN  OF  THE  COLONEL 

NEXT  morning  Morris  and  Stella  met  at  breakfast  as 
usual,  but  as  though  by  mutual  consent  neither  of  them 
alluded  to  the  events  of  the  previous  evening.  Thus 
the  name  of  Mr.  Layard  was  "  taboo,"  nor  were  any 
more  questions  asked,  or  statements  volunteered  as  to 
that  journey,  the  toils  of  which  Morris  had  suddenly 
discovered  he  was  after  all  able  to  avoid.  This  morning, 
as  it  chanced,  no  experiments  were  carried  on,  principally 
because  it  was  necessary  for  Stella  to  spend  the  day  in 
the  village  doing  various  things  on  behalf  of  her  father, 
and  lunching  with  the  wife  of  Dr.  Charters,  who  was  one 
of  the  churchwardens. 

By  the  second  post,  which  arrived  about  three  o'clock, 
Morris  received  two  letters,  one  from  his  father  and  one 
from  Mary.  There  was  something  about  the  aspect  of 
these  letters  that  held  his  eye.  That  from  his  father 
was  addressed  with  unusual  neatness,  the  bold  letters 
being  written  with  all  the  care  of  a  candidate  in  a  cali- 
graphic  competition.  The  stamps  also  were  affixed  very 
evenly,  and  the  envelope  was  beautifully  sealed  with  the 
full  Monk  coat  done  in  black  wax.  These,  as  experience 
told  him,  were  signs  that  his  father  had  something 
important  to  communicate,  since  otherwise  everything 


194  STELLA  FR  EG  ELI  US 

connected  with  his  letters  was  much  more  casual. 
Further,  to  speak  at  hazard,  he  should  judge  that  this 
matter,  whatever  it  might  be,  was  not  altogether  dis- 
agreeable to  the  writer. 

Mary's  letter  also  had  its  peculiarities.  She  always 
wrote  in  a  large,  loose  scrawl,  running  the  words  into 
one  another  after  the  idle  fashion  which  was  an  index  to 
her  character.  In  this  instance,  however,  the  fault  had 
been  carried  to  such  an  extreme  that  the  address  was 
almost  illegible ;  indeed,  Morris  wondered  that  the  letter 
had  not  been  delayed.  The  stamps,  too,  were  affixed 
anyhow,  and  the  envelope  barely  closed. 

"  Something  has  happened,"  he  thought  to  himself. 
Then  he  opened  Mary's  letter.  It  was  dated  Tuesday, 
that  is,  two  days  before,  and  ran : 

"  DEAREST,  —  My  father  is  dead,  my  poor  old  father, 
and  now  I  have  nobody  but  you  left  in  the  world.  Thank 
God,  at  the  last  he  was  without  pain  and,  they  thought, 
insensible ;  but  I  know  he  wasn't,  because  he  squeezed 
my  hand.  Some  of  his  last  words  that  could  be  under- 
stood were,  '  Give  my  love  to  Morris.'  Oh !  I  feel  as 
though  my  heart  would  break.  After  my  mother's  death 
till  you  came  into  my  life,  he  was  everything  to  me  — 
everything,  everything.  I  can't  write  any  more. 
"  Your  loving 

"  MARY. 

"  P.S.  Don't  trouble  to  come  out  here.  It  is  no  good. 
He  is  to  be  buried  to-morrow,  and  next  day  I  am  going 
'  en  retraite '  for  a  month,  as  I  must  have  time  to  get 
over  this  —  to  accustom  myself  to  not  seeing  him  every 
morning  when  I  come  down  to  breakfast  You  remember 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  COLONEL  195 

my  French  friend,  Gabrielle  d'Estree  ?  Well ;  she  is  a 
nun  now,  a  sub-something  or  other  in  a  convent  near 
here  where  they  take  in  people  for  a  payment.  Some- 
how she  heard  my  father  was  dead,  and  came  to  see  me, 
and  offered  to  put  me  up  at  the  convent,  which  has  a 
beautiful  large  garden,  for  I  have  been  there.  So  I  said 
yes,  for  I  shan't  feel  lonely  with  her,  and  it  will  be  a 
rest  for  a  month.  I  shall  write  to  you  sometimes,  and 
you  needn't  be  afraid,  they  won't  make  me  a  Roman 
Catholic.  Your  father  objected  at  first,  but  now  he 
quite  approves  ;  indeed,  I  told  him  at  last  that  I  meant 
to  go  whether  he  approved  or  not.  It  seems  it  doesn't 
matter  from  a  business  point  of  view,  as  you  and  he  are 
left  executors  of  my  father's  will.  When  the  month  is  up 
I  will  come  to  England,  and  we  will  settle  about  getting 
married.  This  is  the  address  of  the  convent  as  nearly 
as  I  can  remember  it.  Letters  will  reach  me  there." 

Morris  laid  down  the  sheet  with  a  sad  heart,  for  he 
had  been  truly  attached  to  his  uncle  Porson,  whose 
simple  virtues  he  understood  and  appreciated.  Then  he 
opened  his  father's  letter,  which  began  in  an  imposing 
manner : 

"  MY  DEAR  SON  (usually  he  called  him  Morris),  —  It 
is  with  the  deepest  grief  that  I  must  tell  you  that  poor 
John  Porson,  your  uncle,  passed  away  this  morning  about 
ten  o'clock.  I  was  present  at  the  time,  and  did  my  best 
to  soothe  his  last  moments  with  such  consolations  as 
can  be  offered  by  a  relative  who  is  not  a  clergyman.  I 
wished  to  wire  the  sad  event  to  you,  but  Mary,  in  whom 
natural  grief  develops  a  self-will  that  perhaps  is  also 
natural,  peremptorily  refused  to  allow  it,  alleging  that  it 


196  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

was  useless  to  alarm  you  and  waste  money  on  telegrams 
(how  like  a  woman  to  think  of  money  at  such  a  moment) 
when  it  was  quite  impossible  that  you  could  arrive  here 
in  time  for  the  funeral  (for  he  wouldn't  be  brought 
home),  which,  under  these  queer  foreign  regulations, 
must  take  place  to-morrow.  Also  she  announced,  to  my 
surprise,  and,  I  must  admit,  somewhat  to  my  pain,  that 
she  intended  to  immure  herself  for  a  month  in  a  convent, 
after  the  fashion  of  the  Roman  faith,  so  that  it  was  no 
use  your  coming,  as  men  are  not  admitted  into  these 
places.  It  never  seems  to  have  occurred  to  her  that 
under  this  blow  I  should  have  liked  the  consolation  of 
her  presence,  or  that  I  might  wish  to  see  you,  my  son. 
Still,  you  must  not  think  too  much  of  all  this,  although  I 
have  felt  bound  to  bring  it  to  your  notice,  since  women 
under  such  circumstances  are  naturally  emotional,  rebel- 
lious against  the  decrees  of  Providence,  and  conse- 
quently somewhat  selfish. 

"To  turn  to  another  subject.  I  am  glad  to  be  able  to 
inform  you  —  you  will  please  accept  this  as  an  official 
notice  of  the  fact  —  that  on  reading  a  copy  of  your 
uncle's  will,  which  by  his  directions  was  handed  to  me 
after  his  death,  I  find  that  he  has  died  much  better  off 
even  than  I  expected.  The  net  personalty  will  amount 
to  quite  ;£  100,000,  and  there  is  large  realty,  of  which 
at  present  I  do  not  know  the  value.  All  this  is  left  to 
Mary  with  the  fullest  possible  powers  of  disposal.  You 
and  I  are  appointed  executors  with  a  complimentary 
legacy  of  ^500  to  you,  and  but  ;£ioo  to  me.  How- 
ever, the  testator  '  in  consideration  of  the  forthcoming 
marriage  between  his  son  Morris  and  my  daughter 
Mary,  remits  all  debts  and  obligations  that  may  be  due 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  COLONEL  197 

to  his  estate  by  the  said  Richard  Monk,  Lieutenant- 
Colonel,  Companion  of  the  Bath,  and  an  executor  of 
this  will.'  This  amounts  to  something,  of  course,  but 
I  will  not  trouble  you  with  details  at  the  moment. 

"  After  all,  now  that  I  come  to  think  of  it,  it  is  as  well 
that  you  should  not  leave  home  at  present,  as  there  will 
be  plenty  of  executor's  business  to  keep  you  on  the  spot. 
No  doubt  you  will  hear  from  your  late  uncle's  lawyers, 
Thomas  and  Thomas,  and  as  soon  as  you  do  so  you  had 
better  go  over  to  Seaview  and  take  formal  possession  of 
it  and  its  contents  as  an  executor  of  the  will.  I  have  no 
time  to  write  more  at  present,  as  the  undertaker  is  wait- 
ing to  see  me  about  the  last  arrangements  for  the  inter- 
ment, which  takes  place  at  the  English  cemetery  here. 
The  poor  man  has  gone,  but  at  least  we  may  reflect  that 
he  can  be  no  more  troubled  by  sickness,  etc.,  and  it  is  a 
consolation  to  know  that  he  has  made  arrangements  so 
eminently  proper  under  the  circumstances. 

"  Your  affectionate  father, 

"  RICHARD  MONK. 

"P.S.  I  shall  remain  here  for  a  little  while  so  as 
to  be  near  Mary  in  case  she  wishes  to  see  me,  and  after- 
wards work  homewards  via  Paris.  I  expect  to  turn  up 
at  the  Abbey  in  a  fortnight's  time  or  so." 

"  Quite  in  his  best  style,"  reflected  Morris  to  himself. 
"  '  Remits  all  debts  and  obligations  that  may  be  due  to 
his  estate  by  the  said  Richard  Monk.'  I  should  be  sur- 
prised if  they  don't  amount  to  a  good  lot.  No  wonder 
my  father  is  going  to  return  via  Paris;  he  must  feel 
quite  rich  again." 

Then  he  sat  down  to  write  to  Mary. 


198  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

Under  the  pressure  of  this  sudden  blow — for  the  fact 
that  Mr.  Person  had  been  for  some  time  in  failing 
health,  and  the  knowledge  that  his  life  might  terminate 
at  any  time,  did  not  seem  to  make  it  less  sudden  —  a 
cloud  of  depression  settled  on  the  Abbey  household. 
Before  dinner  Morris  visited  Mr.  Fregelius,  and  told  him 
of  what  had  happened ;  whereon  that  pious  and  kindly, 
but  somewhat  inefficient  man,  bestowed  upon  him  a  well- 
meant  lecture  of  consolation.  Appreciating  his  motives, 
Morris  thanked  him  sincerely,  and  was  rising  to  depart, 
when  the  clergyman  added  : 

"  It  is  most  grievous  to  me,  Mr.  Monk,  that  in  these 
sad  hours  of  mourning  you  should  be  forced  to  occupy 
your  mind  with  the  details  of  an  hospitality  which  has 
been  forced  upon  you  by  circumstances.  For  the  pres- 
ent I  fear  that  this  cannot  be  altered " 

"  I  do  not  wish  it  altered,"  interrupted  Morris. 

"  It  is  indeed  kind  of  you  to  say  so,  but  I  am  happy 
to  state  the  doctor  tells  me  if  I  continue  to  progress 
as  well  as  at  present,  I  shall  be  able  to  leave  your 
roof " 

"  My  father's  roof,"  broke  in  Morris  again. 

"  I  beg  pardon  —  your  father's  roof — in  about  a  fort- 
night." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it,  sir ;  and  please  clear  your 
mind  of  the  idea  that  you  have  ceased  to  be  welcome. 
Your  presence  and  that  of  Miss  Fregelius  will  lessen, 
not  increase,  my  trouble.  I  should  be  lonely  in  this  great 
place  with  no  company  but  that  of  my  own  thoughts." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so.  Whether  you  feel  it 
or  not  you  are  kind,  very  kind." 

And  so  for  the  while  they  parted.     When  she  came 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  COLONEL  199 

in  that  afternoon  Mr.  Fregelius  told  Stella  the  news ;  but, 
as  it  happened,  she  did  not  see  Morris  until  she  met  him 
at  dinner  time. 

"  You  have  heard  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  answered ;  "  and  I  am  sorry,  so  sorry. 
I  do  not  know  what  more  to  say." 

"There  is  nothing  to  be  said,"  answered  Morris; 
"  my  poor  uncle  had  li ved  out  his  life  —  he  was  sixty- 
eight,  you  know,  and  there  is  an  end." 

"  Were  you  fond  of  him  ?  Forgive  me  for  asking,  but 
people  are  not  always  fond —  really  fond  — of  those  who 
happen  to  be  their  relations." 

"  Yes,  I  was  very  fond  of  him.  He  was  a  good  man, 
though  simple  and  self-made ;  very  kind  to  everybody ; 
especially  to  myself." 

"  Then  do  not  grieve  for  him,  his  pains  are  over,  and 
some  day  you  will  meet  him  again,  will  you  not  ? " 

"  I  suppose  so ;  but  in  the  presence  of  death  faith 
falters." 

"I  know;  but  I  think  that  is  when  it  should  be 
strongest  and  clearest,  that  is  when  we  should  feel  that 
whatever  else  is  unreal  and  false,  this  is  certain  and  true." 

Morris  bowed  his  head  in  assent,  and  there  was  silence 
for  a  while. 

"I  am  afraid  that  Miss  Person  must  feel  this  very 
much,"  Stella  said  presently. 

"  Yes,  she  seems  quite  crushed.  She  was  his  only  liv- 
ing child,  you  know." 

"  Are  you  not  going  to  join  her  ?  " 

"  No,  I  cannot ;  she  has  gone  into  a  convent  for  a 
month,  near  Beaulieu,  and  I  am  afraid  the  Sisters  would 
not  let  me  through  their  gates." 


200  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

"  Is  she  a  Catholic  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,  but  an  old  friend  of  hers  holds  some  high 
position  in  the  place,  and  she  has  taken  a  fancy  to  be 
quiet  there  for  a  while." 

"  It  is  very  natural,"  answered  Stella,  and  nothing 
more  was  said  upon  the  subject. 

Stella  neither  played  the  violin  nor  sang  that  night, 
nor,  indeed,  again  while  she  remained  alone  with  Morris 
at  the  Abbey.  Both  of  them  felt  that  under  the  circum- 
stances this  form  of  pleasure  would  be  out  of  place,  if 
not  unfeeling,  and  it  was  never  suggested.  For  the 
rest,  however,  their  life  went  on  as  usual.  On  two  or 
three  occasions  when  the  weather  was  suitable  some 
further  experiments  were  carried  out  with  the  aero- 
phone, but  on  most  days  Stella  was  engaged  in  prepar- 
ing the  Rectory,  a  square,  red-brick  house,  dating  from 
the  time  of  George  III.,  to  receive  them  as  soon  as 
her  father  could  be  moved.  Very  fortunately,  as  has 
been  said,  their  journey  in  the  steamer  Trondhjem  had 
been  decided  upon  so  hurriedly  that  there  was  no  time 
to  allow  them  to  ship  their  heavy  baggage  and  furniture, 
which  were  left  to  follow,  and  thus  escaped  destruction. 
Now  at  length  these  had  arrived,  and  the  unpacking 
and  arrangement  gave  her  constant  thought  and  occu- 
pation, in  which  Morris  occasionally  assisted. 

One  evening,  indeed,  he  stayed  in  the  Rectory  with  her, 
helping  to  hang  some  pictures  till  about  half-past  six 
o'clock,  when  they  started  for  the  Abbey.  As  it  chanced, 
a  heavy  gale  was  blowing  that  night,  one  of  the  furious 
winter  storms  which  are  common  on  this  coast,  and  its 
worst  gusts  beat  upon  Stella  so  fiercely  that  she  could 
scarcely  stand,  and  was  glad  to  accept  the  support  of 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  COLONEL  2OI 

Morris's  arm.  As  they  struggled  along  the  high  road 
thus,  a  particularly  savage  blast  tore  the  hood  of  Stella's 
ulster  from  her  head,  whereupon,  leaning  over  her  in 
such  a  position  that  his  face  was  necessarily  quite  close 
to  her  own,  with  some  difficulty  he  managed  to  replace 
the  hood. 

It  was  while  Morris  was  so  engaged  that  a  dog-cart, 
which  because  of  the  roar  of  the  wind  he  did  not  hear, 
and  because  of  his  position  he  could  not  see  until  it  was 
almost  passing  them,  came  slowly  down  the  road. 

Then  catching  the  gleam  of  the  lamps  he  looked  up 
and  started  back,  thinking  that  they  were  being  run  into, 
to  perceive  that  the  occupants  of  the  dog-cart  were 
Stephen  and  Eliza  Layard. 

At  the  same  moment  Stephen  recognised  them,  as 
indeed  he  could  scarcely  help  doing  with  the  light  of 
the  powerful  lamp  shining  full  upon  their  faces.  He 
shouted  something  to  his  sister,  who  also  stared  coldly 
at  the  pair.  Then  a  kind  of  fury  seemed  to  seize 
the  little  man ;  at  any  rate,  he  shook  his  clenched  fist 
in  a  menacing  fashion,  and  brought  down  the  whip 
with  a  savage  cut  upon  the  horse.  As  the  animal 
sprang  forward,  moreover,  Morris  could  almost  have 
sworn  that  he  heard  the  words  "  kissing  her,"  spoken  in 
Stephen's  voice,  followed  by  a  laugh  from  Eliza. 

Then  the  dog-cart  vanished  into  the  darkness,  and  the 
incident  was  closed. 

For  a  moment  Morris  stood  angry  and  astonished, 
but  reflecting  that  in  this  wind  his  ears  might  have 
deceived  him,  and  that,  at  any  rate,  Stella  had  heard 
nothing  through  her  thick  frieze  hood,  he  once  more 
offered  his  arm  and  walked  forward. 


202  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  when,  as  usual,  he  escorted 
Stella  to  church.  The  Layards  were  there  also,  but  he 
noticed  that,  somewhat  ostentatiously,  they  hurried  from 
the  building  immediately  on  the  conclusion  of  the  ser- 
vice, and  it  struck  him  that  this  demonstration  might 
have  some  meaning.  Eliza,  whom  he  afterwards  ob- 
served, engaged  apparently  in  eager  conversation  with 
a  knot  of  people  on  the  roadway,  was,  as  he  knew 
well,  no  friend  to  him,  for  reasons  which  he  could 
guess.  Nor,  as  he  had  heard  from  various  quarters,  was 
she  any  friend  of  Stella  Fregelius,  any  more  than  she 
had  been  to  Jane  Rose.  It  struck  him  that  even  now 
she  might  be  employed  in  sowing  scandal  about  them 
both,  and  for  Stella's  sake  the  thought  made  him  furi- 
ous. But  even  if  it  were  so  he  did  not  see  what  he 
could  do ;  therefore  he  tried  to  think  he  was  mistaken, 
and  to  dismiss  the  matter  from  his  mind. 

Colonel  Monk  had  written  to  say  that  he  was  com- 
ing home  on  the  Wednesday,  but  he  did  not,  in  fact,  put 
in  an  appearance  till  the  half-past  six  train  on  the  fol- 
lowing Saturday  evening,  when  he  arrived  beautifully 
dressed  in  the  most  irreproachable  black,  and  in  a  very 
good  temper. 

"  Ah,  Morris,  old  fellow,"  he  said,  "  I  am  very  pleased 
to  see  you  again.  After  all,  there  is  no  place  like 
home,  and  at  my  time  of  life  nothing  to  equal  quiet.  I 
can't  tell  you  how  sick  I  got  of  that  French  hole.  If 
it  hadn't  been  for  Mary,  and  my  old  friend,  Lady  Raw- 
lins,  who,  as  usual,  was  in  trouble  with  that  wretched 
husband  of  hers  —  he  is  an  imbecile  now,  you  know  — 
I  should  have  been  back  long  before.  Well,  how  are 
you  getting  on  ? " 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  COLONEL  203 

"Oh,  pretty  well,  thank  you,  father,"  Morris  an- 
swered, in  that  rather  restrained  voice  which  was  natu- 
ral to  him  when  conversing  with  his  parent.  "  I  think, 
I  really  think  I  have  nearly  perfected  my  aerophone." 

"  Have  you  ?  Well,  then,  I  hope  you  will  make  some- 
thing out  of  it  after  all  these  years ;  not  that  it  much 
matters  now,  however,"  he  added  contentedly.  "  By  the 
way,  that  reminds  me,  how  are  our  two  guests,  the  new 
parson  and  his  daughter  ?  That  was  a  queer  story 
about  your  finding  her  on  the  wreck.  Are  they  still 
here  ? " 

"  Yes ;  but  the  old  gentleman  is  out  of  bed  now,  and 
he  expects  to  be  able  to  move  into  the  Rectory  on 
Monday." 

"  Does  he  ?  Well,  they  must  have  given  you  some 
company  while  you  were  alone.  There  is  no  time  like 
the  present.  I  will  go  up  and  see  him  before  I  dress 
for  dinner." 

Accordingly  Morris  conducted  his  father  to  the 
Abbot's  chamber,  and  introduced  him  to  the  clergyman. 
Mr.  Fregelius  was  seated  in  his  arm-chair,  with  a  crutch 
by  his  side,  and  on  learning  who  his  visitor  was,  made 
a  futile  effort  to  rise. 

"  Pray,  pray,  sir,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  keep  seated, 
or  you  will  certainly  hurt  your  leg  again." 

"When  I  should  be  obliged  to  inflict  myself  upon 
you  for  another  five  or  six  weeks,"  replied  Mr. 
Fregelius. 

"  In  that  case,  sir,"  said  the  Colonel,  with  his  most 
courteous  bow,  "  and  for  that  reason  only  I  should  con- 
sider the  accident  fortunate,"  by  these  happy  words 
making  of  his  guest  a  devoted  friend  for  ever. 


204  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you ;  I  really  don't  know 
how  to  thank  you." 

"  Then  pray,  Mr.  Fregelius,  leave  the  thanks  un- 
spoken. What  would  you  have  had  us  —  or,  rather,  my 
son  —  do  ?  Turn  a  senseless,  shattered  man  from  his 
door,  and  that  man  his  future  spiritual  pastor  and 
master  ? " 

"  But  there  was  more.  He,  Mr.  Monk,  I  mean,  saved 
my  daughter  Stella's  life.  You  know,  a  block  or  a  spar 
fell  on  me  immediately  after  the  ship  struck.  Then 
those  cowardly  dogs  of  sailors,  thinking  that  she  must 
founder  instantly,  threw  me  into  the  boat  and  rowed 
away,  leaving  her  to  her  fate  in  the  cabin ;  whereon  your 
son,  acting  on  some  words  which  I  spoke  in  my  de- 
lirium, sailed  out  alone  at  night  and  rescued  her." 

"  Yes,  I  heard  something,  but  Morris  is  not  too  com- 
municative. The  odd  thing  about  the  whole  affair,  so 
far  as  I  can  gather,  is  that  he  should  have  discovered 
that  there  was  anybody  left  on  board.  But  he  is  a 
curious  fellow,  Morris ;  those  things  which  one  would 
expect  him  to  know  he  never  does  know;  and  the 
things  that  nobody  else  has  ever  heard  of  he  seems  to 
have  at  his  fingers'  ends  by  instinct,  or  second  sight,  or 
something.  Well,  it  has  all  turned  out  for  the  best, 
hasn't  it  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  I  suppose  so,"  answered  Mr.  Fregelius, 
glancing  at  his  injured  leg.  "At  any  rate,  we  are  both 
alive  and  have  not  lost  many  of  our  belongings." 

"  Quite  so ;  and  under  the  circumstances  you  should 
be  uncommonly  thankful.  But  I  need  not  tell  a  parson 
that.  Well,  I  can  only  say  that  I  am  delighted  to  have 
such  a  good  opportunity  of  making  your  acquaintance, 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  COLONEL  205 

which  I  am  sure  will  lead  to  our  pulling  together  in 
parish  affairs  like  a  pair  of  matched  horses.  Now  I 
must  go  and  dress.  But  I  tell  you  what,  I'll  come  and 
smoke  a  cigar  with  you  afterwards,  and  put  you  au  fait 
with  all  our  various  concerns.  You'll  find  them  a  nice 
lot  in  this  parish,  I  can  tell  you,  a  nice  lot.  Old  Tom- 
ley  just  gave  them  up  as  a  bad  job." 

"  I  hope  I  shan't  do  that,"  replied  Mr.  Fregelius,  after 
his  retreating  form. 

The  Colonel  was  down  to  dinner  first,  and  standing 
warming  himself  at  the  library  fire  when  Stella,  once 
more  in  honour  of  his  arrival  arrayed  in  her  best 
dress,  entered  the  room.  The  Colonel  put  up  his 
eye-glass  and  looked  at  her  as  she  came  down  its 
length. 

"  By  Jove  !  "  he  thought  to  himself,  "  I  didn't  know 
that  the  clergyman's  daughter  was  like  this ;  nobody 
ever  said  so.  After  all,  that  fellow  Morris  can't  be 
half  such  a  fool  as  he  looks,  for  he  kept  it  dark."  Then 
he  stepped  forward  with  outstretched  hand. 

"  You  must  allow  me  to  introduce  myself,  Miss  Frege- 
lius," he  said  with  an  old-fashioned  and  courtly  bow, 
"  and  to  explain  that  I  have  the  honour  to  be  my  son's 
father." 

She  bowed  and  answered :  "  Yes,  I  think  I  should 
have  known  that  from  the  likeness." 

"  Hum  !  "  said  the  Colonel.  "  Even  at  my  age  I  am 
not  certain  that  I  am  altogether  flattered.  Morris  is  an 
excellent  fellow,  and  very  clever  at  electrical  machines ; 
but  I  have  never  considered  him  remarkable  for  personal 
beauty  —  not  exactly  an  Adonis,  or  an  Apollo,  or  a  Nar- 
cissus, you  know." 


206  STELLA   FREGELIUS 

"  I  should  doubt  whether  any  of  them  had  such  a 
nice  face,"  replied  Stella  with  a  smile. 

"  My  word  !  Now,  that  is  what  I  call  a  compliment 
worth  having.  But  I  hear  the  gentleman  himself  coming. 
Shall  I  repeat  it  to  him  ? " 

"  No,  please  don't,  Colonel  Monk.  I  did  not  mean  it 
for  compliment,  only  for  an  answer." 

"  Your  wish  is  a  command ;  but  may  I  make  an  excep- 
tion in  favour  of  Miss  Person,  who  prospectively  owns 
the  nice  face  in  question  ?  She  would  be  delighted  to 
know  it  so  highly  rated ;  "  and  he  glanced  at  her  sharply, 
the  look  of  a  man  of  the  world  who  is  trying  to  read  a 
woman's  heart. 

"  By  all  means,"  answered  Stella,  in  an  indifferent 
voice,  but  recognising  in  the  Colonel  one  who,  as  friend 
or  foe,  must  be  taken  into  account.  Then  Morris  came 
in,  and  they  went  to  dinner. 

Here  also  Colonel  Monk  was  very  pleasant.  He 
made  Stella  tell  the  story  of  the  shipwreck  and  of  her 
rescue,  and  generally  tried  to  draw  her  out  in  every 
possible  way.  But  all  the  while  he  was  watching  and 
taking  note  of  many  things.  Before  they  had  been  to- 
gether for  five  minutes  he  observed  that  this  couple,  his 
son  and  their  visitor,  were  on  terms  of  extreme  intimacy 
—  intimacy  so  extreme  and  genuine  that  in  two  instances, 
at  least,  each  anticipated  what  the  other  was  going  to 
say,  without  waiting  for  any  words  to  be  spoken.  Thus 
Stella  deliberately  answered  a  question  that  Morris  had 
not  put,  and  he  accepted  the  answer  and  continued  the 
argument  quite  as  a  matter  of  course.  Also,  they 
seemed  mysteriously  to  understand  each  other's  wants, 
and,  worst  of  all,  he  noted  that  when  speaking  they 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  COLONEL  207 

never  addressed  each  other  by  name.  Evidently  just 
then  each  of  them  had  but  one  "  you  "  in  the  world. 

Now,  the  Colonel  had  not  passed  through  very  varied 
experiences  and  studied  many  sides  and  conditions  of 
life  for  nothing;  indeed,  he  would  himself  explain  that 
he  was  able  to  see  as  far  into  a  brick  wall  as  other  folk. 

The  upshot  of  all  this  was  that  first  he  thought  Morris 
a  very  lucky  fellow  to  be  an  object  of  undoubted  admi- 
ration to  those  beautiful  eyes.  (It  may  be  explained  that 
the  Colonel  throughout  life  had  been  an  advocate  of 
taking  such  goods  as  the  gods  provided ;  something  of 
a  worshipper,  too,  at  the  shrine  of  lovely  Thais.)  His 
second  reflection  was  that  under  all  the  circumstances  it 
seemed  quite  time  that  he  returned  home  to  look  after 
him. 

"  Now,  Miss  Fregelius,"  he  said,  as  she  rose  to  leave  the 
table,  "  when  Morris  and  I  have  had  a  glass  of  wine,  and 
ten  minutes  to  chat  over  matters  connected  with  his 
poor  uncle's  death,  I  am  going  to  ask  you  to  do  me  a 
favour  before  I  go  up  to  smoke  a  cigar  with  your  father. 
It  is  that  you  will  play  me  a  tune  on  the  violin  and  sing 
me  a  song." 

"Did  Mr.  Monk  tell  you  that  I  played  and  sang?" 
she  asked. 

"No,  he  did  not.  Indeed,  Mr.  Monk  has  told  me 
nothing  whatsoever  about  you.  His,  as  you  may  have 
observed,  is  not  a  very  communicative  nature.  The  in- 
formation came  from  a  much  less  interesting,  though, 
for  aught  I  know,  from  a  more  impartial  source  —  the 
fat  page-boy,  Thomas,  who  is  first  tenor  in  the  Wes- 
leyan  chapel,  and  therefore  imagines  that  he  under- 
stands music." 


208  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

"  But  how  could  Thomas "  began  Morris,  when 

his  father  cut  him  short  and  answered : 

"  Oh,  I'll  tell  you,  quite  simply.  I  had  it  from  the  in- 
teresting youth's  own  lips  as  he  unpacked  my  clothes.  It 
seems  that  the  day  before  the  news  of  your  uncle's  death 
reached  this  place,  Thomas  was  aroused  from  his 
slumbers  by  hearing  what  he  was  pleased  to  call 
'  hangels  a-'arping  and  singing.'  As  soon  as  he  con- 
vinced himself  that  he  still  lingered  on  the  earth,  drawn 
by  the  sweetness  of  the  sounds,  'just  in  his  jacket  and 
breeches,'  he  followed  them,  until  he  was  sure  that  they 
proceeded  from  your  workshop,  the  chapel. 

"  Now,  as  you  know,  on  the  upstair  passage  there 
still  is  that  queer  slit  through  which  the  old  abbots  used 
to  watch  the  monks  at  their  devotions.  Finding  the 
shutter  unlocked,  the  astute  Thomas  followed  their  ex- 
ample, as  well  as  he  could,  for  he  says  there  was  no  light 
in  the  chapel  except  that  of  the  fire,  by  which  presently 
he  made  out  your  figure,  Miss  Fregelius,  sometimes 
playing  the  violin,  and  sometimes  singing,  and  that  of 
Morris  —  again  I  must  quote  — '  a-sitting  in  a  chair  by 
the  fire  with  his  'ands  at  the  back  of  'is  'ead,  a-staring  at 
the  floor  and  rocking  'imself  about  as  though  he  felt 
right  down  bad.'  No,  don't  interrupt  me,  Morris ;  I 
must  tell  my  story.  It's  very  amusing. 

"  Well,  Miss  Fregelius,  he  says  —  and,  mind  you,  this 
is  a  great  compliment  —  that  you  sang  and  played  till  he 
felt  as  though  he  would  cry  when  at  last  you  sank  down 
quite  exhausted  in  a  chair.  Then,  suddenly  realising 
that  he  was  very  cold,  and  hearing  the  stable  clock  strike 
two,  he  went  back  to  bed,  and  that's  the  end  of  the  tale. 
Now  you  will  understand  why  I  have  asked  you  this 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  COLONEL  2OQ 

favour.     I  don't  see  why  Morris  and   Thomas  should 
keep  it  all  to  themselves." 

"I  shall  be  delighted,"  answered  Stella,  who,  although 
her  cheeks  were  burning,  and  she  knew  that  the  merci- 
less Colonel  was  taking  note  of  the  fact,  on  the  whole 
had  gone  through  the  ordeal  remarkably  well.  Then 
she  left  the  room. 

As  soon  as  the  door  closed  Morris  turned  upon  his 
father  angrily. 

"  Oh !  my  dear  boy,"  the  Colonel  said,  "  please  do 
not  begin  to  explain.  I  know  it's  all  perfectly  right, 
and  there  is  nothing  to  explain.  Why  shouldn't  you 
get  an  uncommonly  pretty  girl  with  a  good  voice  to  sing 
to  you  —  while  you  are  still  in  a  position  to  listen  ?  But 
if  you  care  to  take  my  advice,  next  time  you  will  see 
that  the  shutter  of  that  hagioscope,  or  whatever  they 
call  it,  is  locked,  as  such  elevated  delights  'a  deux'  are 
apt  to  be  misinterpreted  by  the  vulgar.  And  now, 
there's  enough  of  this  chaff  and  nonsense.  I  want  to 
speak  to  you  about  the  executorship  and  matters  con- 
nected with  the  property  generally." 

Half  an  hour  later,  when  the  Colonel  appeared  in  the 
drawing-room,  the  violin  was  fetched,  and  Stella  played 
it  and  sang  afterwards  to  a  piano-forte  accompaniment. 
The  performance  was  not  of  the  same  standard,  by  any 
means,  as  that  which  had  delighted  Thomas,  for  Stella 
did  not  feel  the  surroundings  quite  propitious.  Still,  with 
her  voice  and  touch  she  could  not  fail,  and  the  result  was 
that  before  she  had  done  the  Colonel  grew  truly 
enthusiastic. 

"I  know  a  little  of  music,"  he  said,  "  and  I  have  heard 
most  of  the  best  singers  and  violinists  during  the  last 


210  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

forty  years ;  but  in  the  face  of  all  those  memories  I  hope 
you  will  allow  me  to  congratulate  you,  Miss  Fregelius. 
There  are  some  notes  in  your  voice  which  really  reduce 
me  to  the  condition  of  peeping  Thomas,  and,  hardened 
old  fellow  that  I  am,  almost  make  me  feel  inclined  to 
cry." 


CHAPTER   XV 
THREE  INTERVIEWS 

THE  next  day  was  Sunday,  and  the  Colonel  went  to 
church,  wearing  a  hat-band  four  inches  deep.  Morris, 
however,  declined  to  accompany  him,  saying  that  he  had 
a  letter  to  write  to  Mary ;  whereon  his  father,  who  at  first 
was  inclined  to  be  vexed,  replied  that  he  could  not  be 
better  employed,  and  that  he  was  to  give  her  his  love. 
Then  he  asked  if  Miss  Fregelius  was  coming,  but  some- 
what to  his  disappointment,  was  informed  that  she 
wished  to  stay  with  her  father. 

"  I  wonder,"  thought  the  Colonel  to  himself  as  he 
strolled  to  the  church,  now  and  again  acknowledging 
greetings  or  stopping  to  chat  with  one  of  the  villagers 
—  "I  wonder  if  they  are  going  to  have  a  little  sacred 
music  together  in  the  chapel.  If  so,  upon  my  soul,  I 
should  like  to  make  the  congregation.  And  that  pious 
fellow  Morris,  too  —  the  blameless  Morris  —  to  go  phi- 
landering about  in  this  fashion.  I  hope  it  won't  come 
to  Mary's  ears ;  but  if  it  does,  luckily,  with  all  her  tem- 
per, she  is  a  sensible  woman,  and  knows  that  even  Jove 
nods  at  times." 

After  the  service  the  Colonel  spoke  to  various  friends, 
accepted  their  condolences  upon  the  death  of  Mr. 
Person,  and  finally  walked  down  the  road  with  Eliza 
Layard. 


212  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

"You  must  have  found  that  all  sorts  of  strange  things 
have  happened  at  the  Abbey  since  you  have  been  away, 
Colonel  Monk,"  she  said  presently  in  a  sprightly  voice. 

"Well,  yes;  at  least  I  don't  know.  I  understand  that 
Morris  has  improved  that  blessed  apparatus  of  his,  and 
the  new  parson  and  his  daughter  have  floated  to  our 
doors  like  driftwood.  By  the  way,  have  you  seen  Miss 
Fregelius  ? " 

"Seen  her?     Yes,  I  have  seen  her." 

"She  is  a  wonderfully  captivating  girl,  isn't  she  ?  So 
unusual,  with  those  great  eyes  of  hers  that  seem  to  vary 
with  the  light " 

"  Like  a  cat's,"  snapped  Eliza. 

"  The  light  within  —  I  was  going  to  say." 

"  Oh  !  I  thought  you  meant  the  light  without.  Well, 
she  may  be  fascinating  —  to  men,  but  as  I  am  only  a 
woman,  I  cannot  be  expected  to  appreciate  that.  You 
see  we  look  more  to  other  things." 

"  Ah.  Well,  so  far  as  I  am  a  judge  she  seemed  to 
me  to  be  pretty  well  set  up  in  them  also.  She  has  a 
marvellous  voice,  is  certainly  a  first-class  violinist,  and  I 
should  say  extremely  well-read,  especially  in  Norse 
literature." 

"Oh  !     I  daresay  she  is  a  genius  as  well  as  a  beauty." 

"I  gather,"  said  the  Colonel  with  a  smile,  "that  you 
do  not  like  Miss  Fregelius.  As  my  acquaintance  with 
her  is  limited,  would  you  think  me  rude  if  I  asked  why  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  be  expected  to  like  her,  seeing "  and 

she  paused. 

"  Seeing  what,  Miss  Layard  ? " 

"What,  haven't  you  heard?  I  thought  it  was 
common  property." 


THREE  INTERVIEWS  213 

He  shook  his  head.  "  I  have  heard  nothing.  Go  on, 
pray,  this  is  quite  interesting." 

"  That  she  led  on  that  silly  brother  of  mine  until  he 
proposed  to  her  —  yes,  proposed  to  her!  —  and  then 
refused  him.  Stephen  has  been  like  a  crazy  creature 
ever  since,  moaning,  and  groaning,  and  moping  till  I 
think  that  he  will  go  off  his  head,  instead  of  returning 
thanks  to  Providence  for  a  merciful  escape." 

The  Colonel  set  his  lips  as  though  to  whistle,  then 
checked  himself. 

"  Under  the  circumstances,  presuming  them  to  be 
accurately  stated,  I  am  not  prepared  to  say  who  is 
to  be  congratulated  or  who  should  thank  Providence. 
These  things  are  so  individual,  are  they  not?  But  one 
thing  is  clear,  whatever  else  she  is  or  is  not,  Miss 
Fregelius  cannot  be  a  fortune-hunter,  although  she 
must  want  money." 

"  She  may  want  other  things  more." 

"  Perhaps.  But  I  am  very  stupid,  I  am  afraid  I  do 
not  understand." 

"  Men,  for  instance,"  suggested  Eliza. 

"  Dear  me !  that  sounds  almost  carnivorous.  I  am 
afraid  that  there  are  not  many  about  here  to  satisfy  her 
appetite.  Your  brother,  Morris,  the  curate  at  Morton, 
and  myself,  if  at  my  age  I  may  creep  into  that 
honourable  company,  are  the  only  single  creatures 
within  four  miles,  and  from  these  Stephen  and  Morris 
must  apparently  be  eliminated." 

"  Why  should  Morris  be  eliminated  ? " 

"  A  reason  may  occur  to  you." 

"  Do  you  mean  because  he  is  engaged  ?  What  on 
earth  does  that  matter  ?  " 


214  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

"  Nothing  —  in  the  East  —  but,  rightly  or  wrongly,  we 
have  decided  upon  a  monogamous  system ;  a  man  can't 
marry  two  wives,  Miss  Layard." 

"  But  he  can  throw  over  one  girl  to  marry  another." 

"  Do  you  suggest  that  Morris  is  contemplating  that 
experiment? " 

"  I  ?     I  suggest  nothing;  all  I  know  is " 

"  Well,  now,  what  do.  you  know  ?  " 

"  If  you  wish  me  to  tell  you,  as  perhaps  I  ought,  I 
know  this,  Colonel  Monk,  that  the  other  night,  when  I 
was  driving  along  the  Rectory  road,  I  saw  your  son, 
Mr.  Monk,  kissing  this  wonderful  Miss  Fregelius ;  that 
is  all,  and  Stephen  saw  it  also,  you  ask  him." 

"  Thank  you ;  I  think  I  would  rather  not.  But  what 
an  odd  place  for  him  to  choose  for  this  interchange  of 
early  Christian  courtesies  !  Also  —  if  you  are  not  mis- 
taken —  how  well  it  illustrates  that  line  in  the  hymn 
this  morning : 

"  *  How  many  a  spot  defiles  the  robe  that  wraps  an  earthly  saint.' 

Such  adventures  seem  scarcely  in  Morris's  line,  and  I 
should  have  thought  that  even  an  inexperienced  saint 
would  have  been  more  discreet." 

"  Men  always  jest  at  serious  things,"  said  Eliza 
severely. 

"  Which  do  you  mean  —  the  saints  or  the  kissing  ? 
Both  are  serious  enough,  but  the  two  in  combination " 

"Don't  you  believe  me  ?  "  asked  Eliza. 

"  Of  course.     But  could  you  give  me  a  few  details  ?  " 

Eliza  could  and  did — with  amplifications. 

"  Now,  what  do  you  say,  Colonel  Monk  ?  "  she  asked 
triumphantly. 


THREE  INTERVIEWS 

"  I  say  that  I  think  you  have  made  an  awkward  mis- 
take, Miss  Layard.  It  seems  to  me  that  all  you  saw  is 
quite  consistent  with  the  theory  that  he  was  buttoning  or 
arranging  the  young  lady's  hood.  I  understand  that 
the  wind  was  very  high  that  night." 

Eliza  started ;  this  was  a  new  and  unpleasant  inter- 
pretation which  she  hastened  to  repudiate.  "  Arranging 
her  hood,  indeed " 

"  When  he  might  have  been  kissing  her  ?  You  can- 
not understand  such  moderation.  Still,  it  is  possible,  and 
he  ought  to  have  the  benefit  of  the  doubt.  Witnesses 
to  character  would  be  valuable  in  such  a  case,  and  his 
—  not  to  mention  the  lady's  —  is  curiously  immaculate." 

"  Of  course  you  are  entitled  to  your  own  opinion,  but 
I  have  mine." 

Suddenly  the  Colonel  changed  his  bantering,  satirical 
tone,  and  became  stern  and  withering. 

"  Miss  Layard,  "  he  said,  "  does  it  occur  to  you  that 
on  evidence  which  would  not  suffice  to  convict  a  bicy- 
clist of  riding  on  a  footpath,  you  are  circulating  a  scan- 
dal of  which  the  issue  might  be  very  grave  to  both 
the  parties  concerned  ? " 

"  I  am  not  circulating  anything.  I  was  telling  you 
privately;  "  replied  Eliza,  still  trying  to  be  bold. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  I  understand  that  neither  you 
nor  your  brother  have  spoken  of  this  extraordinary  tale, 
and  I  am  quite  certain  that  you  will  not  speak  of  it  in 
the  future." 

"  I  cannot  answer  for  my  brother, "  she  said  sulkily. 

"  No,  but  in  his  own  interest  and  in  yours  I  trust  that 
you  will  make  him  understand  that  if  I  hear  a  word  of 
this  I  shall  hold  him  to  account.  Also,  that  his  propa- 


2l6  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

gation  of  such  a  slander  will  react  upon  you,  who  were 
with  him.  " 

"  How  ? "  asked  Eliza,  now  thoroughly  frightened, 
for  when  he  chose  the  Colonel  could  be  very  crushing. 

"  Thus :  Your  brother's  evidence  is  that  of  an  inter- 
ested person  which  no  one  will  accept ;  and  of  yours,  Miss 
Layard,  it  might  be  inferred  that  it  was  actuated  by 
jealousy  of  a  charming  and  quite  innocent  girl ;  or,  per- 
haps, by  other  motives  even  worse,  which  I  would  rather 
you  did  not  ask  me  to  suggest.  " 

Eliza  did  not  ask  him.  She  was  too  wise.  As  she 
knew  well,  when  roused  the  Colonel  was  a  man  with  a 
bitter  tongue  and  a  good  memory. 

"  I  am  sure  I  am  the  last  person  who  would  wish  to 
do  mischief,  "  she  said  in  a  humble  voice. 

"  Of  course,  I  know  that,  I  know  that.  Well,  now 
we  understand  each  other,  so  I  must  be  turning  home. 
Thank  you  so  much  for  having  been  quite  candid  with 
me.  Good  morning,  Miss  Layard ;  remember  me  to 
Stephen." 

"Phew!"  reflected  the  Colonel  to  himself,  "that 
battle  is  won  —  after  a  fashion — but  just  about  forty- 
eight  hours  too  late.  By  this  time  that  vixen  of  a 
woman  has  put  the  story  all  over  the  place.  Oh,  Mor- 
ris, you  egregious  ass,  if  you  wanted  to  take  to  kissing 
like  a  schoolboy,  why  the  deuce  did  you  select  the  high 
road  for  the  purpose  ?  This  must  be  put  a  stop  to. 
I  must  take  steps,  and  at  once.  They  mustn't  be  seen 
together  again,  or  there  will  be  trouble  with  Mary.  But 
how  to  do  it  ?  how  to  do  it  ?  That  is  the  question,  and  one 
to  which  I  must  find  an  answer  within  the  next  two  hours. 
What  a  kettle  of  fish  !  What  a  pretty  kettle  of  fish ! " 


THREE  INTERVIEWS  21 7 

In  due  course,  and  after  diligent  search,  he  found  the 
answer  to  this  question. 

At  lunch  time  the  Colonel  remarked  casually  that  he 
had  walked  a  little  way  with  Miss  Layard,  who  men- 
tioned that  she  had  seen  them  —  i.e.,  his  son  and  Miss 
Fregelius  —  struggling  through  the  gale  the  other  night. 
Then  he  watched  the  effect  of  this  shot.  Morris  moved 
his  chair  and  looked  uncomfortable ;  clearly  he  was  a 
most  transparent  sinner.  But  on  Stella  it  took  no  effect. 

"  As  usual,"  reflected  the  Colonel,  "  the  lady  has  the 
most  control.  Or  perhaps  he  tried  to  kiss  her  and  she 
wouldn't  let  him,  and  a  consciousness  of  virtue  gives 
her  strength." 

After  luncheon  the  Colonel  paid  a  visit  to  Mr.  Fre- 
gelius, ostensibly  to  talk  to  him  about  the  proposed  res- 
toration of  the  chancel,  for  which  he,  as  holder  of  the 
great  tithes,  was  jointly  liable  with  the  rector,  a  respon- 
sibility that,  in  the  altered  circumstances  of  the  family, 
he  now  felt  himself  able  to  face.  When  this  subject 
was  exhausted,  which  did  not  take  long,  as  Mr.  Frege- 
lius refused  to  express  any  positive  opinion  until  he  had 
inspected  the  church,  the  Colonel's  manner  suddenly 
grew  portentously  solemn. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  he  said,  "  there  is  another  matter,  a 
somewhat  grave  one,  upon  which,  for  both  our  sakes  and 
the  sakes  of  those  immediately  concerned,  I  feel  bound 
to  say  a  few  words." 

Mr.  Fregelius,  who  was  a  timid  man,  looked  very 
much  alarmed.  A  conviction  that  "the  grave  matter" 
had  something  to  do  with  Stella  flashed  into  his  mind, 
but  all  he  said  was : 


218  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

"  I  am  afraid  I  don't  understand,  Colonel  Monk." 

"  No ;  indeed,  how  should  you  ?  Well,  to  come  to  the 
point,  it  has  to  do  with  that  very  charming  daughter  of 
yours  and  my  son  Morris." 

"  I  feared  as  much,"  groaned  the  clergyman. 

"  Indeed !    I  thought  you  said  you  did  not  understand." 

"  No,  but  I  guessed ;  wherever  Stella  goes  things 
seem  to  happen." 

"  Exactly ;  well,  things  have  happened  here.  To  be 
brief,  I  mean  that  a  lot  of  silly  women  have  got  up  a 
scandal  about  them  —  no,  scandal  is  too  strong  a  word 
—  gossip." 

"  What  is  alleged  ? "  asked  Mr.  Fregelius  faintly. 

"  Well,  that  your  daughter  threw  over  that  young  ass, 
Stephen  Layard,  because  —  the  story  seems  to  me  incred- 
ible, I  admit  —  she  had  fallen  violently  in  love  with 
Morris.  Further  that  she  and  the  said  Morris  were 
seen  embracing  at  night  on  the  Rectory  road,  which  I 
don't  believe,  as  the  witnesses  are  Layard,  who  is  preju- 
diced, and  his  sister,  who  is  the  most  ill-bred,  bitter,  and 
disappointed  woman  in  the  county.  Lastly,  and  this  is 
no  doubt  true,  that  they  are  generally  on  terms  of 
great  intimacy,  and  we  all  know  where  that  leads  to 
between  a  man  and  woman  — '  Plato,  thy  confounded 
fantasies,'  etc.  You  see,  when  people  sit  up  singing  to 
each  other  alone  till  two  in  the  morning  —  I  don't  mean 
that  Morris  sings,  he  has  no  more  voice  than  a  crow ;  he 
does  the  appreciative  audience  —  well,  other  people  will 
talk,  won't  they  ? " 

"  I  suppose  so,  the  world  being  what  it  is,"  sighed 
Mr.  Fregelius. 

"  Exactly ;  the  world  being  what  it  is,  and  men  and 


THREE  INTERVIEWS  21$ 

women  what  they  are,  a  most  unregenerate  lot  and  '  au 
fond'  very  primitive,  as  I  daresay  you  may  have  ob- 
served." 

"  What  is  to  be  done  ? " 

"  Well,  under  other  circumstances,  I  should  have  said, 
Nothing  at  all  except  congratulate  them  most  heartily, 
more  especially  my  son.  But  in  this  case  there  are 
reasons  which  make  such  a  course  impossible.  As  you 
know,  Morris  is  engaged  to  be  married  to  my  niece, 
Miss  Porson,  and  it  is  a  contract  which,  even  if  he  wished 
it,  honour  would  forbid  him  to  break,  for  family  as  well 
as  for  personal  reasons." 

"  Quite  so,  quite  so ;  it  is  not  to  be  thought  of.  But 
again  I  ask  —  What  is  to  be  done  ?  " 

"  Is  that  not  rather  a  question  for  you  to  consider  ?  I 
suggest  that  you  had  better  speak  to  your  daughter; 
just  a  hint,  you  know,  just  a  hint." 

"Upon  my  word,  I'd  rather  not.  Stella  can  be  so  — 
decided  —  at  times,  and  we  never  seem  quite  to  under- 
stand each  other.  I  did  speak  to  her  the  other  day  when 
Mr.  Layard  wished  to  marry  her,  a  match  I  was  naturally 
anxious  for,  but  the  results  were  not  satisfactory." 

"Still,  I  think  you  might  try." 

"Very  well,  I  will  try;  and,  Colonel  Monk,  I  cannot 
tell  you  how  grieved  I  am  to  have  brought  all  this  trouble 
on  you." 

"  Not  a  bit,"  answered  the  Colonel  cheerfully.  "  I 
am  an  old  student  of  human  nature,  and  I  rather  enjoy 
it ;  it's  like  watching  the  puppets  on  a  stage.  Only  we 
mustn't  let  the  comedy  grow  into  a  tragedy." 

"  Ah !  that's  what  I  am  afraid  of,  some  tragedy. 
Stella  is  a  woman  who  takes  things  hard,  and  if  any 
affection  really  has  sprung  up " 


220  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

" It  will  no  doubt  evaporate  with  the  usual  hys- 
terics and  morning  headache.  Bless  me !  I  have  known 
dozens  of  them,  and  felt  some  myself  in  my  time  — 
the  headaches,  I  mean,  not  the  other  things.  Don't  be 
alarmed  if  she  gets  angry,  Mr.  Fregelius,  but  just  appeal 
to  her  reason ;  she  will  see  the  force  of  it  afterwards." 

An  hour  or  so  later  the  Colonel  started  for  a  walk  on 
the  beach  to  look  at  some  damage  which  a  high  tide  had 
done  to  the  cliff.  As  he  was  nearing  the  Abbey  steps 
on  his  return  he  saw  the  figure  of  a  woman  standing 
quite  still  upon  the  sands.  An  inspection  through  his 
eyeglass  revealed  that  it  was  Stella,  and  instinct  told  him 
her  errand. 

"  This  is  rather  awkward,"  he  thought,  as  he  braced 
himself  to  battle,  "especially  as  I  like  that  girl  and 
don't  want  to  hurt  her  feelings.  Hullo  !  Miss  Fregelius, 
are  you  taking  the  air  ?  You  should  walk,  or  you  will 
catch  cold." 

"  No,  Colonel  Monk,  I  was  waiting  for  you." 

"  Waiting  for  me  ?  Me  !  This  is  indeed  an  honour, 
and  one  which  age  appreciates." 

She  waved  aside  his  two-edged  badinage.  "  You  have 
been  speaking  to  my  father,"  she  said. 

Instantly  the  Colonel  assumed  a  serious  manner,  not 
the  most  serious,  such  as  he  wore  at  funerals,  but  still 
one  suited  to  a  grave  occasion. 

"  Yes,  I  have." 

"  You  remember  all  that  you  said  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  Miss  Fregelius ;  and  I  assume  that  for  the 
purposes  of  this  conversation  it  need  not  be  repeated." 

She  bowed  her  head,  and  replied,  "  I  have  come  to 
explain  and  to  tell  you  three  things.  First,  that  all 


THREE  INTERVIEWS  221 

these  stories  are  false  except  that  about  the  singing. 
Secondly,  that  whoever  is  responsible  for  them  has  made 
it  impossible  that  I  should  live  in  Monksland,  so  I  am 
going  to  London  to  earn  my  own  living  there.  And, 
thirdly,  that  I  hope  you  will  excuse  my  absence  from 
dinner  as  I  think  the  more  I  keep  to  myself  until  we  go 
to-morrow,  the  better;  though  I  reserve  to  myself  the 
right  to  speak  to  Mr.  Monk  on  this  subject  and  to  say 
good-bye  to  him." 

"  She  is  taking  it  hard  and  she  is  fond  of  him — deuced 
fond  of  him,  poor  girl,"  thought  the  Colonel;  but  aloud 
he  said,  "  My  dear  Miss  Fregelius,  I  never  believed  the 
stories.  As  for  the  principal  one,  common  sense  rebels 
against  it.  All  I  said  to  your  father  was  that  there 
appears  to  be  a  lot  of  talk  about  the  place,  and,  under 
the  circumstances  of  my  son's  engagement,  that  he 
might  perhaps  give  you  a  friendly  hint." 

"  Oh !  indeed ;  he  did  not  put  it  quite  like  that.  He 
gave  me  to  understand  that  you  had  told  him  —  that  I 
was  —  so  —  so  much  in  love  with  Mr.  Monk  that  on  this 
account  I  had  —  rejected  Mr.  Layard." 

"  Please  keep  walking,"  said  the  Colonel,  "or  you  really 
will  catch  cold."  Then  suddenly  he  stopped,  looked  her 
sharply  in  the  face,  much  as  he  had  done  to  Eliza,  and 
said,  "  Well,  and  are  you  not  in  love  with  him  ?  " 

For  a  moment  Stella  stared  at  him  indignantly.  Then 
suddenly  he  saw  a  blush  spread  upon  her  face  to  be 
followed  by  an  intense  pallor,  while  the  pupils  of  the 
lovely  eyes  enlarged  themselves  and  grew  soft.  Next 
instant  she  put  her  hand  to  her  heart,  tottered  on  her 
feet,  and  had  he  not  caught  her  would  perhaps  have 
fallen. 


222  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

"  I  do  not  think  I  need  trouble  you  to  answer  my 
question,  which,  indeed,  now  that  I  think  of  it,  was  one 
I  had  no  right  to  put,"  he  said  as  she  recovered  herself. 

"  Oh,  my  God  ! "  moaned  Stella,  wringing  her  hands ; 
"  I  never  knew  it  till  this  moment.  You  have  brought 
it  home  to  me ;  you,  yes,  you ! "  and  she  burst  out 
weeping. 

"Here  are  the  hysterics,"  thought  the  Colonel,  "and 
I  am  afraid  that  the  headache  will  be  bad  to-morrow 
morning." 

To  her,  however,  he  said  very  tenderly,  "  My  dear 
girl,  my  dear  girl,  pray  do  not  distress  yourself.  These 
little  accidents  will  happen  in  the  best  regulated  hearts, 
and  believe  me,  you  will  get  over  it  in  a  month  or  two." 

"  Accident ! "  she  said.  "  It  is  no  accident ;  it  is  Fate  ! 
—  I  see  it  all  now  —  and  I  shall  never  get  over  it.  How- 
ever, that  is  my  own  affair,  and  I  have  no  right  to 
trouble  you  with  my  misfortunes." 

"  Oh  !  but  you  will  indeed,  and  though  you  may  think 
the  advice  hard,  I  will  tell  you  the  best  way." 

She  looked  up  in  inquiry. 

"  Change  your  mind  and  marry  Stephen  Layard.  He 
is  not  at  all  a  bad  fellow,  and  —  there  are  obvious 
advantages." 

This  was  the  Colonel's  first  really  false  move,  as  he 
himself  felt  before  the  last  word  had  left  his  lips. 

"  Colonel  Monk,"  she  said,  "because  I  am  unfortunate 
is  it  any  reason  that  you  should  insult  me  ? " 

"  Miss  Fregelius,  to  my  knowledge  I  have  never  in- 
sulted any  woman ;  and  certainly  I  should  not  wish  to 
begin  with  one  who  has  just  honoured  me  with  her  con- 
fidence." 


THREE  INTERVIEWS  22$ 

"  Is  it  not  an  insult,"  she  answered  with  a  sort  of 
sob,  "  when  a  woman  to  her  shame  and  sorrow  has  con- 
fessed—  what  I  have  —  to  bid  her  console  herself  by 
marriage  with  another  man  ? " 

"  Now  that  you  put  it  thus,  I  confess  that  perhaps 
some  minds  might  so  interpret  an  intention  which  did 
not  exist.  It  seemed  to  me  that,  after  a  while,  in  mar- 
riage you  would  most  easily  forget  a  trouble  which  my 
son  so  unworthily  has  brought  on  you." 

"  Don't  blame  him  for  he  does  not  deserve  it.  If  any- 
body is  to  blame  it  is  I ;  but  in  truth  all  those  stories 
are  false ;  we  have  neither  of  us  done  anything." 

"  Do  not  press  the  point,  Miss  Fregelius ;  I  believe 
you." 

"  We  have  neither  of  us  done  anything,"  she  repeated ; 
"  and,  what  is  more,  if  you  had  not  interfered,  I  do  not 
think  that  I  should  have  found  out  the  truth  ;  or,  at  least, 
not  yet — till  I  saw  him  married,  perhaps,  when  it  would 
have  been  no  matter." 

"When  you  see  a  man  walking  in  his  sleep  you  do 
your  best  to  stop  him,"  said  the  Colonel. 

"  And  so  cause  him  to  fall  over  the  precipice  and  be 
dashed  to  bits.  Oh !  you  should  have  let  me  finish  my 
journey.  Then  I  should  have  come  back  to  the  bed 
that  I  have  made  to  lie  on,  and  waked  to  find  myself 
alone,  and  nobody  would  have  been  hurt  except  myself 
who  caused  the  evil." 

The  Colonel  could  not  continue  this  branch  of  the 
conversation.  Even  to  him,  a  hardened  vessel,  as  he  had 
defined  himself,  it  was  too  painful. 

"  You  said  you  mean  to  earn  a  living  in  London.    How  ? " 

"  By  my  voice  and  violin,  if  one  can  sing  and  play 


224  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

with  a  sore  heart.  I  have  an  old  aunt,  a  sister  of  my 
father's,  who  is  a  music  mistress,  with  whom  I  daresay 
I  can  arrange  to  live,  and  who  may  be  able  to  get  me 
some  introductions." 

"  I  hope  that  I  can  help  you  there,  and  I  will  to  the 
best  of  my  ability ;  indeed,  if  necessary,  I  will  go  to 
town  and  see  about  things.  Allow  me  to  add  this,  Miss 
Fregelius,  that  I  think  you  are  doing  a  very  brave 
thing,  and,  what  is  more,  a  very  wise  one;  and  I  believe 
that  before  long  we  shall  hear  of  you  as  the  great 
new  contralto." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  It  may  be ;  I  don't 
care.  Good-bye.  By  the  way,  I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Monk 
once  more  before  I  go ;  it  would  be  better  for  us  all. 
I  suppose  that  you  don't  object  to  that,  do  you  ? " 

"  Miss  Fregelius,  my  son  is  a  man  advancing  towards 
middle  age.  It  is  entirely  a  point  for  you  and  him  to 
decide,  and  I  will  only  say  that  I  have  every  confidence 
in  you." 

"Thank  you,"  she  answered,  and  turning,  walked 
rapidly  down  the  lonely  beach  till  her  figure  melted 
into  the  gathering  gloom  of  the  winter's  night.  Once, 
however,  when  she  thought  that  she  was  out  of  eye- 
shot, he  saw  her  stop  with  her  face  towards  the  vast 
and  bitter  sea,  and  saw  also  that  she  was  wringing  her 
hands  in  an  agony  of  the  uttermost  despair. 

"  She  looks  like  a  ghost,"  said  the  Colonel  aloud  with 
a  little  shiver,  "like  a  helpless,  hopeless,  homeless  ghost, 
with  the  world  behind  her  and  the  infinite  in  front,  and 
nothing  to  stand  on  but  a  patch  of  shifting  sand,  wet 
with  her  own  tears." 

When  the  Colonel  grew  thus  figurative  and  poetical 


THREE  INTERVIEWS  22$ 

it  may  be  surmised  by  anyone  who  has  taken  the  trouble 
to  study  his  mixed  and  somewhat  worldly  character 
that  he  was  deeply  moved.  And  he  was  moved ;  more 
so,  indeed,  than  he  had  been  since  the  death  of  his  wife. 
Why  ?  He  would  have  found  it  hard  to  explain.  On  the 
face  of  it,  the  story  was  of  a  trivial  order,  and  in  some 
of  its  aspects  rather  absurd.  Two  young  people  who 
happened  to  be  congenial,  but  one  of  whom  was  engaged, 
chance  to  be  thrown  together  for  a  couple  of  months  in 
a  country  house.  Although  there  is  some  gossip,  noth- 
ing at  all  occurs  between  them  beyond  a  little  perfectly 
natural  flirtation.  The  young  man's  father,  hearing  the 
gossip,  speaks  to  the  young  lady  in  order  that  she  may 
take  steps  to  protect  herself  and  his  son  against  surmise 
and  misinterpretation.  Thereupon  a  sudden  flood  of  light 
breaks  upon  her  soul,  by  which  she  sees  that  she  is  really 
attached  to  the  young  man,  and  being  a  woman  of  un- 
usual character,  or  perhaps  absurdly  averse  to  lying  even 
upon  such  a  subject,  in  answer  to  a  question  admits  that 
this  is  so,  and  that  she  very  properly  intends  to  go  away. 

Could  anything  be  more  commonplace,  more  in  the 
natural  order  of  events  ?  Why,  then,  was  he  moved  ?  Oh  ! 
it  was  that  woman's  face  and  eyes.  Old  as  he  might  be, 
he  felt  jealous  of  his  son ;  jealous  to  think  that  for  him 
such  a  woman  could  wear  this  countenance  of  wonderful 
and  thrilling  woe.  What  was  there  in  Morris  that  it 
should  have  called  forth  this  depth  of  passion  undented  ? 
Now,  if  there  were  no  Mary  —  but  there  was  a  Mary, 
it  was  folly  to  pursue  such  a  line  of  thought. 

From  sympathy  for  Stella,  which  was  deep  and 
genuine,  to  anger  with  his  son  proved  to  the  Colonel  an 
easy  step.  Morris  was  that  worst  of  sinners,  a  hypo- 


226  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

crite.  Morris,  being  engaged  to  one  woman,  had  taken 
advantage  of  her  absence  deliberately  to  involve  the 
affections  of  another,  and  had  thereby  ruined  her  life, 
or,  at  any  rate,  caused  her  considerable  inconvenience. 
He  was  wroth  with  Morris,  and  what  was  more,  before 
he  grew  an  hour  older  he  would  let  him  have  a  bit  of 
his  mind. 

He  found  the  sinner  in  his  workshop,  the  chapel, 
making  mathematical  calculations,  the  very  sight  of 
which  added  to  his  father's  indignation.  The  man,  he 
reflected  to  himself,  who  under  these  circumstances 
could  indulge  an  abnormal  talent  for  mathematics,  es- 
pecially on  Sunday,  must  be  a  cold-blooded  brute.  He 
entered  the  place  slamming  the  door  behind  him ;  and 
Morris  looking  up  noted  with  alarm,  for  he  hated  rows, 
that  there  was  war  in  his  eye. 

"Won't  you  take  a  chair,  father?"  he  said. 

"  No,  thank  you ;  I  would  rather  say  what  I  have  to 
say  standing." 

"What  is  the  matter?" 

"  The  matter  is,  sir,  that  I  find  that  by  your  attentions 
you  have  made  that  poor  girl,  Miss  Fregelius,  while  she 
was  a  guest  in  my  house,  the  object  of  slander  and 
scandal  to  every  ill-natured  gossip  in  the  three  parishes." 

Morris's  quiet,  thoughtful  eyes  flashed  in  an  ominous 
and  unusual  manner. 

"If  you  were  not  my  father,"  he  said,  "I  should  ask 
you  to  change  your  tone  in  speaking  to  me  on  such  a 
subject;  but  as  things  are  I  suppose  that  I  must  submit 
to  it,  unless  you  choose  otherwise." 

"The  facts,  Morris,"  answered  his  father,  "justify  any 
language  that  I  can  use." 


THREE  INTERVIEWS  227 

"  Did  you  get  these  facts  from  Stephen  Layard  and 
Miss  Layard?  Ah!  I  guessed  as  much.  Well,  the 
story  is  a  lie ;  I  was  merely  arranging  her  hood  which 
she  could  not  do  herself,  as  the  wind  forced  her  to  use 
her  hand  to  hold  her  dress  down." 

The  thought  of  his  own  ingenuity  in  hitting  on  the 
right  solution  of  the  story  mollified  the  Colonel  not  a 
little. 

"Pshaw,"  he  said,  "I  knew  that.  Do  you  suppose 
that  I  believed  you  fool  enough  to  kiss  a  girl  on  the 
open  road  when  you  had  every  opportunity  of  kissing 
her  at  home?  I  know,  too,  that  you  have  never  kissed 
her  at  all ;  or,  ostensibly,  at  any  rate,  done  anything 
that  you  shouldn't  do." 

"  What  is  my  offence,  then  ? "  asked  Morris. 

"  Your  offence  is  that  you  have  got  her  talked  about ; 
that  you  have  made  her  in  love  with  you — don't  deny 
it ;  I  have  it  from  her  own  lips.  That  you  have  driven 
her  out  of  this  place  to  earn  a  living  in  London  as  best 
she  may,  and  that,  being  yourself  an  engaged  man  "  — 
here  once  more  the  Colonel  drew  a  bow  at  a  venture  — 
"you  are  what  is  called  in  love  with  her  yourself." 

These  two  were  easy  victims  to  the  skill  of  so  expe- 
rienced an  archer.  The  shaft  went  home  between  the 
joints  of  his  son's  harness,  and  Morris  sank  back  in  his 
chair  and  turned  white.  Generosity,  or  perhaps  the  fear 
of  exciting  more  unpleasant  consequences,  prevented  the 
Colonel  from  following  up  this  head  of  his  advantage. 

"  There  is  more,  a  great  deal  more,  behind,"  he  went 
on.  "  For  instance,  all  this  will  probably  come  to  Mary's 
ears." 

"Certainly  it  will;  I  shall  tell  her  of  it  myself." 


228  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

"  Which  will  be  tantamount  to  breaking  your  engage- 
ment. May  I  ask  if  that  is  your  intention  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  supposing  that  all  you  say  were  true,  and 
that  it  was  my  intention,  what  then  ?  " 

"  Then,  sir,  to  my  old-fashioned  ideas  you  would  be 
a  dishonourable  fellow,  to  cast  away  the  woman  who 
has  only  you  to  look  to  in  the  world,  that  you  may 
put  another  woman  who  has  taken  your  fancy  in  her 
place." 

Morris  bit  his  lip. 

"  Still  speaking  on  that  supposition,"  he  replied, 
"  would  it  not  be  more  dishonourable  to  marry  her ; 
would  it  not  be  kinder,  shameful  as  it  may  be,  to  tell 
her  all  the  truth  and  let  her  seek  some  worthier  man  ? " 

The  Colonel  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  I  can't  split 
hairs,"  he  said,  "or  enter  on  an  argument  of  sentimental 
casuistry.  But  I  tell  you  this,  Morris,  although  you  are 
my  only  son,  and  the  last  of  our  name,  that  rather  than 
do  such  a  thing,  under  all  the  circumstances,  it  would 
be  better  that  you  should  take  a  pistol  and  blow  your 
brains  out." 

"Very  probably,"  answered  Morris,  "but  would  you 
mind  telling  me  also  what  are  the  exact  circumstances 
which  would  in  your  opinion  so  aggravate  this  par- 
ticular case  ? " 

"  You  have  a  copy  of  your  uncle  Person's  will  in  that 
drawer ;  give  it  me." 

Morris  obeyed,  and  his  father  searched  for,  and  read 
the  following  sentence :  "  In  consideration  of  the  forth- 
coming marriage  between  his  son  Morris  and  my  daugh- 
ter Mary,  the  said  testator  remits  all  debts  and  obligations 
that  may  be  due  to  his  estate  by  the  said  Richard  Monk, 


THREE  INTERVIEWS  229 

Lieutenant  Colonel,  Companion  of  the  Bath,  and  an 
executor  of  this  will." 

"Well,"  said  Morris. 

"Well,"  replied  the  Colonel  coolly,  "those  debts  in 
all  amounted  to  ^19,543.  No  wonder  you  seem  aston- 
ished, but  they  have  been  accumulating  for  a  score  of 
years.  There's  the  fact,  any  way,  so  discussion  is  no 
use.  Now  do  you  understand  ?  '  In  consideration  of 
the  forthcoming  marriage,"  remember." 

"  I  shall  be  rich  some  day ;  that  machine  you  laugh 
at  will  make  me  rich ;  already  I  have  been  approached. 
I  might  repay  this  money." 

"  Yes,  and  you  might  not ;  such  hopes  and  expecta- 
tions have  a  way  of  coming  to  nothing.  Besides,  hang 
it  all,  Morris,  you  know  that  there  is  more  than  money 
in  the  question." 

Morris  hid  his  face  in  his  hands  for  a  moment ;  when 
he  removed  them  it  was  ashen.  "  Yes,"  he  said,  "  things 
are  unfortunate.  You  remember  that  you  were  very 
anxious  that  I  should  engage  myself,  and  Mary  was  so 
good  as  to  accept  me.  Perhaps,  I  cannot  say,  I  should 
have  done  better  to  have  waited  till  I  felt  some  real  im- 
pulse towards  marriage.  However,  that  is  all  gone  by, 
and,  father,  you  need  not  be  in  the  least  afraid ;  there  is 
not  the  slightest  fear  that  I  shall  attempt  to  do  anything 
of  which  you  would  disapprove." 

"  I  was  sure  you  wouldn't,  old  fellow,"  answered  the 
Colonel  in  a  friendly  tone,  "  not  when  you  came  to  think. 
Matters  seem  to  have  got  into  a  bit  of  a  tangle,  don't 
they  ?  Most  unfortunate  that  charming  young  lady  be- 
ing brought  to  this  house  in  such  a  fashion.  Really,  it 
looks  like  a  spite  of  what  she  called  Fate.  However,  I 


230  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

have  no  doubt  that  it  will  all  straighten  itself  somehow. 
By  the  way,  she  told  me  that  she  should  wish  to  see  you 
once  to  say  good-bye  before  she  went.  Don't  be  vexed 
with  me  if,  should  she  do  so,  I  suggest  to  you  to  be  very 
careful.  Your  position  will  be  exceedingly  painful  and 
exceedingly  dangerous,  and  in  a  moment  all  your  fine 
resolutions  may  come  to  nothing ;  though  I  am  sure  that 
she  does  not  wish  any  such  thing,  poor  dear.  Unless 
she  really  seeks  this  interview,  I  think,  indeed,  it  would 
be  best  avoided." 

Morris  made  no  answer,  and  the  Colonel  went  away 
somewhat  weary  and  sorrowful.  For  once  he  had  seen 
too  much  of  his  puppet-show. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A  MARRIAGE  AND  AFTER 

STELLA  did  not  appear  at  dinner  that  night,  or  at  break- 
fast next  day.  In  the  course  of  the  morning,  growing 
impatient,  for  he  had  explanations  to  make,  Morris  sent 
her  a  note  worded  thus  : 

"  Can  I  see  you  ?  —  M.  M." 
to  which  came  the  following  answer : 

"  Not  to-day.  Meet  me  to-morrow  at  the  Dead  Church 
at  three  o'clock.  —  STELLA." 

It  was  the  only  letter  that  he  ever  received  from  her. 

That  afternoon,  December  23,  Mr.  Fregelius  and  his 
daughter  moved  to  the  Rectory  in  a  fly  that  had  been 
especially  prepared  to  convey  the  invalid  without  shak- 
ing him.  Morris  did  not  witness  their  departure,  as 
the  Colonel,  either  by  accident  or  design,  had  arranged 
to  go  with  him  on  this  day  to  inspect  the  new  build- 
ings which  had  been  erected  on  the  Abbey  Farm. 
Nor,  indeed,  were  the  names  of  the  departed  guests  so 
much  as  mentioned  at  dinner  that  night.  The  incident 
of  their  long  stay  at  the  Abbey,  with  all  its  curious 
complications,  was  closed,  and  both  father  and  son,  by 
tacit  agreement,  determined  to  avoid  all  reference  to  it; 
at  any  rate  for  the  present. 

231 


232  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

The  Christmas  Eve  of  that  year  will  long  be  remem- 
bered in  Monksland  and  all  that  stretch  of  coast  as  the 
day  of  the  "  great  gale  "  which  wrought  so  much  damage 
on  its  shores.  The  winter's  dawn  was  of  extraordinary 
beauty,  for  all  the  eastern  sky  might  have  been  compared 
to  one  vast  flower,  with  a  heart  of  burnished  gold,  and 
sepals  and  petals  of  many  coloured  fires.  Slowly  from  a 
central  point  it  opened,  slowly  its  splendours  spread  across 
the  heavens ;  then  suddenly  it  seemed  to  wither  and  die, 
till  where  it  had  been  was  nothing  but  masses  of  grey 
vapour  that  arose,  gathered,  and  coalesced  into  an  ashen 
pall  hanging  low  above  the  surface  of  the  ashen  sea. 
The  coastguard,  watching  the  glass,  hoisted  their  warn- 
ing cone,  although  as  yet  there  was  no  breath  of  wind, 
and  old  sailormen  hanging  about  in  knots  on  the  cliff  and 
beach  went  to  haul  up  their  boats  as  high  as  they  could 
drag  them,  knowing  that  it  would  blow  hard  by  night. 

About  mid-day  the  sea  began  to  be  troubled,  as  though 
its  waves  were  being  pushed  on  by  some  force  as  yet 
unseen,  and  before  two  o'clock  gusts  of  cold  air  from 
the  nor'east  travelled  landwards  off  the  ocean  with  a 
low  moaning  sound,  which  was  very  strange  to  hear. 

As  Morris  trudged  along  towards  the  Dead  Church 
he  noticed,  as  we  do  notice  such  things  when  our  minds 
are  much  preoccupied  and  oppressed,  that  these  gusts 
were  coming  quicker  and  quicker,  although  still  separated 
from  each  other  by  periods  of  aerial  calm.  Then  he  re- 
membered that  a  great  gale  had  been  prophesied  in  the 
weather  reports,  and  thought  to  himself  that  they  por- 
tended its  arrival. 

He  reached  the  church  by  the  narrow  spit  of  sand  and 
shingle  which  still  connected  it  with  the  shore,  passed 


A  MARRIAGE  AND  AFTER  233 

through  the  door  in  the  rough  brick  wall,  closing  it  be- 
hind him,  and  paused  to  look.  Already  under  that 
heavy  sky  the  light  which  struggled  through  the  brine- 
encrusted  eastern  window  was  dim  and  grey.  Presently, 
however,  he  discovered  the  figure  of  Stella  seated  in  her 
accustomed  place  by  the  desolate-looking  stone  altar, 
whereon  stood  the  box  containing  the  aerophone  that 
they  had  used  in  their  experiments.  She  was  dressed 
in  her  dark-coloured  ulster,  of  which  the  hood  was  still 
drawn  over  her  head,  giving  her  the  appearance  of  some 
cloaked  nun,  lingering,  out  of  time  and  place,  in  the 
ruined  habitations  of  her  worship. 

As  he  advanced  she  rose  and  pushed  back  the  hood, 
revealing  the  masses  of  her  waving  hair,  to  which  it  had 
served  as  a  sole  covering.  In  silence  Stella  stretched 
out  her  hand,  and  in  silence  Morris  took  it ;  for  neither 
of  them  seemed  to  find  any  words.  At  length  she  spoke, 
fixing  her  sad  eyes  upon  his  face,  and  saying: 

"  You  understand  that  we  meet  to  part.  I  am  going 
to  London  to-morrow ;  my  father  has  consented." 

"  That  is  Christmas  Day,"  he  faltered. 

"  Yes,  but  there  is  an  early  train,  the  same  that  runs 
on  Sundays." 

Then  there  was  another  pause. 

"  I  wish  to  ask  your  pardon,"  he  said,  "  for  all  the 
trouble  that  I  have  brought  upon  you." 

She  smiled.  "  I  think  it  is  I  who  should  ask  yours. 
You  have  heard  of  these  stories  ? " 

"  Yes,  my  father  spoke  to  me  ;  he  told  me  of  his  con- 
versation with  you." 

"  All  of  it  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know;  I  suppose  so,"  and  he  hung  his  head. 


234  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

"  Oh!"  she  broke  out  in  a  kind  of  cry,  "if  he  told 
you  all " 

"  You  must  not  blame  him,"  he  interrupted.  "  He  was 
very  angry  with  me.  He  considered  that  I  had  behaved 
badly  to  you,  and  everybody,  and  I  do  not  think  that 
he  weighed  his  words." 

"  I  am  not  angry.  Now  that  I  think  of  it,  what  does 
it  matter  ?  I  cannot  help  things,  and  the  truth  will  out." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  quite  simply ;  "  we  love  each  other,  so 
we  may  as  well  admit  it  before  we  part." 

"Yes,"  she  echoed,  without  disturbance  or  surprise; 
"  I  know  now —  we  love  each  other." 

These  were  the  first  intimate  words  that  ever  passed 
between  them  ;  this,  their  declaration,  unusual  even  in 
the  long  history  of  the  passions  of  men  and  women, 
and  not  the  less  so  because  neither  of  them  seemed  to 
think  its  fashion  strange. 

"  It  must  always  have  been  so,"  said  Morris. 

"  Always,"  she  answered,  "  from  the  beginning ;  from 
the  time  you  saved  my  life  and  we  were  together  in  the 
boat  and  —  perhaps,  who  can  say  ?  —  before.  I  can  see 
it  now,  only  until  they  put  light  into  our  minds  we  did 
not  understand.  I  suppose  that  sooner  or  later  we 
should  have  found  it  out,  for  having  been  brought  to- 
gether nothing  could  ever  have  really  kept  us  asunder." 

"  Nothing  but  death,"  he  answered  heavily. 

"That  is  your  old  error,  the  error  of  a  lack  of  faith," 
she  replied,  with  one  of  her  bright  smiles.  "  Death  will 
unite  us  beyond  the  possibility  of  parting.  I  pray  God 
that  it  may  come  quickly  —  to  me,  not  to  you.  You 
have  your  life  to  lead ;  mine  is  finished.  I  do  not  mean 
the  life  of  my  body,  but  the  real  life,  that  within." 


A  MARRIAGE  AND  AFTER  235 

"  I  think  that  you  are  right ;  I  grow  sure  of  it.  But 
here  there  is  nothing  to  be  done." 

"Of  course,"  she  answered  eagerly;  "nothing.  Do 
you  suppose  that  I  wished  to  suggest  such  a  treachery  ? " 

"  No,  you  are  too  pure  and  good." 

"  Good  I  am  not  —  who  is  ?  —  but  I  believe  that  I  am 
pure." 

"  It  is  bitter,"  groaned  Morris. 

"  Why  so  ?  My  heart  aches,  and  yet  through  the  pain 
I  rejoice,  because  I  know  that  it  is  well  with  us.  Had 
you  not  loved  me,  then  it  would  have  been  bitter.  The 
rest  is  little.  What  does  it  matter  when  and  how  and 
where  it  comes  about  ?  To-day  we  part  —  for  ever  in  the 
flesh.  You  will  not  look  upon  this  mortal  face  of  mine 
again." 

"  Why  do  you  say  so  ? " 

"  Because  I  feel  that  it  is  true." 

He  glanced  up  hastily,  and  she  answered  the  question 
in  his  eyes. 

"No  —  indeed  —  not  that — I  never  thought  of  such 
a  thing.  I  think  it  a  crime.  We  are  bid  to  endure  the 
burden  of  our  day.  I  shall  go  on  weaving  my  web  and 
painting  my  picture  till,  soon  or  late,  God  says,  '  Hold,' 
and  then  I  shall  die  gladly,  yes,  very  gladly,  because  the 
real  beginning  is  at  hand." 

"  Oh !  that  I  had  your  perfect  faith,"  groaned  Morris. 

"  Then,  if  you  love  me,  learn  it  from  me.  Should  I, 
of  all  people,  tell  you  what  is  not  true  ?  It  is  the  truth 

1  swear  it  is  the  truth.  I  am  not  deceived.  I 

know,  I  know,  I  know" 

"  What  do  you  know  —  about  us  ?  " 

"  That,  when  it  is  over,  we  shall  meet  again  where 


236  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

there  is  no  marriage,  where  there  is  nothing  gross,  where 
love  perfect  and  immortal  reigns  and  passion  is  forgot- 
ten. There  that  we  love  each  other  will  make  no  heart 
sore,  not  even  hers  whom  here,  perhaps,  we  have 
wronged ;  there  will  be  no  jealousies,  since  each  and 
all,  themselves  happy  in  their  own  way  and  according 
to  their  own  destinies,  will  rejoice  in  the  happiness  of 
others.  There,  too,  our  life  will  be  one  life,  our  work 
one  work,  our  thought  one  thought  —  nothing  more  shall 
separate  us  at  all  in  that  place  where  there  is  no  change 
or  shadow  of  turning.  Therefore,"  and  she  clasped  her 
hands  and  looked  upwards,  her  face  shining  like  a 
saint's,  although  the  tears  ran  down  it,  "therefore, 
'  O  Death,  where  is  thy  sting  ?  O  grave,  where  is  thy 
victory  ? ' ' 

"  You  talk  like  one  upon  the  verge  of  it,  who  hears 
the  beating  of  Death's  wings.  It  frightens  me,  Stella." 

"  I  know  nothing  of  that ;  it  may  be  to-night,  or  fifty 
years  hence  —  we  are  always  on  the  verge,  and  those 
Wings  I  have  heard  from  childhood.  Fifty,  even  seventy 
years,  and  after  them  —  all  the  Infinite ;  one  tiny  grain  of 
sand  compared  to  the  bed  of  the  great  sea,  that  sea  from 
which  it  was  washed  at  dawn  to  be  blown  back  again  at 
nightfall." 

"  But  the  dead  forget  —  in  that  land  all  things  are 
forgotten.  Were  you  to  die  I  should  call  to  you  and 
you  would  not  answer ;  and  when  my  time  came,  I  might 
look  for  you  and  never  find  you." 

"How  dare  you  say  it?  If  I  die,  search,  and  you 
shall  see.  No ;  do  not  search,  wait.  At  your  death  I 
will  be  with  you." 

"  Whatever  happens  in  life  or  death  —  here  or  here- 


A  MARRIAGE  AND  AFTER  237 

after  —  swear  that  you  will  not  forget  me,  and  that  you 
will  love  me  only.  Swear  it,  Stella." 

"  Come  to  this  altar,"  she  said,  when  she  had  thought 
a  moment,  "  and  give  me  your  hand  —  so.  Now,  before 
my  Maker  and  the  Presences  who  surround  us,  I  marry 
you,  Morris  Monk.  Not  in  the  flesh — with  your  flesh  I 
have  nothing  to  do  —  but  in  the  spirit.  I  take  your  soul 
to  mine,  I  give  my  soul  to  yours ;  yours  it  was  from  its 
birth's  day,  yours  it  is,  and  when  it  ceases  to  be  yours, 
let  it  perish  everlastingly." 

"  So  be  it  to  both  of  us,  for  ever  and  for  ever,"  he 
answered. 

This,  then,  was  their  marriage,  and  as  they  walked 
hand  in  hand  away  from  the  ancient  altar,  which  surely 
had  never  seen  so  strange  a  rite,  there  returned  to 
Morris  an  idle  fantasy  which  had  entered  his  mind 
at  this  very  spot  when  they  landed  one  morning  half- 
frozen  after  that  night  in  the  open  boat.  But  he  said 
nothing  of  it;  for  with  the  memory  came  a  recollec- 
tion of  certain  wandering  words  which  that  same  day 
fell  from  Stella's  lips,  words  at  the  thought  of  which  his 
spirit  thrilled  and  his  flesh  shuddered.  What  if  she  were 
near  it,  or  he  were  near  it,  or  both  of  them  ?  What  if 
this  solemn  ceremony  of  marriage  mocked,  yet  made 
divine,  had  taken  place  upon  the  very  threshold  of  its 
immortal  consummation  ?  She  read  his  thought  and 
answered : 

"  Remember  always,  far  and  near,  it  is  the  same  thing; 
time  is  nothing  ;  this  oath  of  ours  cannot  be  touched  by 
time  or  earthly  change." 

"  I  will  remember,"  he  answered. 


238  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

What  more  did  they  say  ?  He  never  could  be 
sure,  nor  does  it  matter,  for  what  is  written  bears  its 
gist. 

"  Go  away  first,"  she  said  presently ;  "  I  promised  your 
father  that  I  would  bring  no  further  trouble  on  you,  so 
we  must  not  be  seen  together.  Go  now,  for  the  gale  is 
rising  fast  and  the  darkness  grows." 

"  This  is  hard  to  bear,"  he  muttered,  setting  his  teeth. 
"Are  you  sure  that  we  shall  not  meet  again  in  after 
years  ? " 

"  Sure.  You  look  your  last  on  me,  on  the  earthly 
Stella  whom  you  know  and  love." 

"  It  must  be  done,"  he  said. 

"  It  must  be  done,"  she  echoed.  "  Good-bye,  husband, 
till  that  appointed  hour  of  meeting  when  I  may  call  you 
so  without  shame,"  and  she  held  out  her  hand. 

He  took  and  pressed  it ;  speak  he  could  not.  Then, 
like  a  man  stricken  in  years,  he  passed  down  the  church 
with  bent  head  and  shambling  feet.  At  the  door  he 
turned  to  look  at  her.  She  was  standing  erect  and 
proud  as  a  conqueror,  her  hand  resting  upon  the  altar. 
Even  at  that  distance  their  eyes  met,  and  in  hers,  lit 
with  a  wild  and  sudden  ray  from  the  sinking  sun,  he 
could  see  a  strange  light  shine.  Then  he  went  out  of 
the  door  and  dragged  it  to  behind  him,  to  battle  his  way 
homeward  through  the  roaring  gale  that  stung  and 
buffeted  him  like  all  the  gathered  spites  and  hammer- 
ings of  Destiny. 

This,  then,  was  their  parting,  a  parting  pure  and  stern 
and  high,  unsolaced  by  one  soft  word,  unsweetened 
by  a  single  kiss.  Yet  it  seems  fitting  that  those  who 
hope  to  meet  in  the  light  of  the  spirit  should  make 


A  MARRIAGE  AND  AFTER  239 

their  last  farewells  on  earth  beneath  such  solemn  sha- 
dows. 

And  Stella  ?  After  all  she  was  but  a  woman,  a  woman 
with  a  very  human  heart.  She  knew  the  truth  indeed, 
to  whom  it  was  given  to  see  before  the  due  determined 
time  of  vision,  but  still  she  was  troubled  with  that  human 
heart,  and  weighed  down  by  the  flesh  over  which  she 
triumphed.  Now  that  he  was  gone,  pride  and  strength 
seemed  both  to  leave  her,  and  with  a  low  cry,  like  the  cry 
of  a  wounded  sea-bird,  she  cast  herself  down  there  upon 
the  cold  stones  before  the  altar,  and  wept  till  her  senses 
left  her. 

A  great  gale  roared  and  howled.  The  waters,  driven 
onwards  by  its  furious  breath,  beat  upon  the  eastern 
cliffs  till  these  melted  like  snow  beneath  them,  taking 
away  field  and  church,  town  and  protecting  wall,  and  in 
return  casting  up  the  wrecks  of  ships  and  the  bodies  of 
dead  men. 

Morris  could  not  sleep.  Who  could  sleep  in  such  an 
awful  tempest?  Who  could  sleep  that  had  passed 
through  such  a  parting  ?  Oh !  his  heart  ached,  and  he 
was  as  one  sick  to  death,  and  with  him  continually  was 
the  thought  of  Stella,  and  before  him  came  the  vision  of 
her  eyes.  He  could  not  sleep,  so  rising,  he  dressed 
himself  and  went  to  the  window.  High  in  the  heavens 
swept  clean  of  clouds  by  the  furious  blasts  floated  a  wan- 
ing moon,  throwing  her  ghastly  light  upon  the  swirling, 
furious  sea.  Shorewards  rushed  the  great  rollers  in  un- 
ending lines,  there  to  break  in  thunder  and  seethe  across 
the  shingle  till  the  sea-wall  stopped  them  and  sent  the 
spray  flying  upwards  in  thin,  white  clouds. 


240  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

"God  help  those  in  the  power  of  the  sea  to-night," 
thought  Morris,  "for  many  of  them  will  not  keep 
Christmas  here." 

Then  it  seemed  to  his  mind,  excited  by  storm  and  sor- 
row, as  though  some  power  were  drawing  him,  as  though 
some  voice  were  telling  him  that  there  was  that  which  he 
must  hear.  Aimlessly,  half-unconsciously  he  wandered 
to  his  workshop  in  the  old  chapel,'  turned  on  one  of 
the  lamps,  and  stood  at  the  window  watching  the  ma- 
jestic progress  of  the  storm,  and  thinking,  thinking, 
thinking. 

While  he  remained  thus,  suddenly,  thrilling  his  nerves 
as  though  with  a  quick  shock  of  pain,  sharp  and  clear 
even  in  that  roar  and  turmoil,  rang  out  the  sound  of  an 
electric  bell.  He  started  round  and  looked.  Yes ;  as  he 
thought  in  all  the  laboratory  there  was  only  one  bell  that 
could  ring,  none  other  had  its  batteries  charged,  and 
that  bell  was  attached  to  the  aerophone  whereof  the 
twin  stood  upon  the  altar  in  the  Dead  Church.  The  in- 
strument was  one  of  the  pair  with  which  he  had  carried 
out  his  experiments  of  the  last  two  months. 

His  heart  stood  still.  "  Great  God !  What  could 
have  caused  that  bell  to  ring  ?  "  It  could  not  ring;  it 
was  a  physical  impossibility  unless  somebody  were  han- 
dling the  sister  instrument,  and  at  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  who  could  be  there,  and  except  one,  who 
would  know  its  working?  With  a  bound  he  was  by 
the  aerophone  and  had  given  the  answering  signal. 
Then  instantly,  as  though  she  were  standing  at  his  side 
in  the  room,  for  this  machine  does  not  blur  the  voice  or 
heighten  its  tone,  he  heard  Stella  speaking. 

"  Is  it  you  who  answer  me  ?  "  she  asked. 


A  MARRIAGE  AND  AFTER  241 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  "but  where  are  you  at  this  hour 
of  the  night  ?  " 

"  Where  you  left  me,  in  the  Dead  Church,"  floated  back 
the  quick  reply  through  the  raving  breadths  of  storm. 
"  Listen :  After  you  went  my  strength  gave  out  and  I 
suppose  that  I  fainted ;  at  least,  a  little  while  ago  I  woke 
up  from  a  deep  sleep  to  find  myself  lying  before  the 
altar  here.  I  was  frightened,  for  I  knew  that  it  must  be 
far  into  the  night,  and  an  awful  gale  is  blowing  which 
shakes  the  whole  church.  I  went  to  the  door  and 
opened  it,  and  by  the  light  of  the  moon  I  saw  that 
between  me  and  the  shore  lies  a  raging  sea  hundreds  of 
yards  wide.  Then  I  came  back  and  threw  out  my  mind 
to  you,  and  tried  to  wake  you,  if  you  slept ;  tried  to  make 
you  understand  that  I  wished  you  to  go  to  the  aerophone 
and  hear  me." 

"  I  will  get  help  at  once,"  broke  in  Morris. 

"  I  beg  you,"  came  back  the  voice,  "  I  beg  you,  do 
not  stir.  The  time  is  very  short ;  already  the  waves  are 
dashing  against  the  walls  of  the  chancel,  and  I  hear  the 
water  rumbling  in  the  vaults  beneath  my  feet.  Listen  !  " 
Her  voice  ceased,  and  in  place  of  it  there  swelled  the 
shriek  of  the  storm  which  beat  about  the  Dead  Church, 
the  rush,  too,  of  the  water  in  the  hollow  vaults  and  the 
crashing  of  old  coffins  as  they  were  washed  from  their 
niches.  Another  instant,  and  Stella  had  cut  off  these 
sounds  and  was  speaking  again. 

"  It  is  useless  to  think  of  help,  no  boat,  nothing 
could  live  upon  that  fearful  sea;  moreover,  within  five 
minutes  this  church  must  fall  and  vanish." 

"  My  God  !     My  God  !  "  wailed  Morris. 

"  Do  not  grieve ;  it  is  a  waste  of  precious  time,  and  do 


242  STELLA   FREGELIUS 

not  stir  till  the  end.  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  did 
not  seek  this  death.  I  never  dreamed  of  such  a  thing. 
You  must  tell  my  father  so,  and  bid  him  not  to  mourn 
for  me.  It  was  my  intention  to  leave  the  church  within 
ten  minutes  of  yourself.  This  cup  is  given  to  me  by 
the  hand  of  Fate.  I  did  not  fill  it.  Do  you  hear  and 
understand  ? " 

"  I  hear  and  understand,"  answered  Morris. 

"Now  you  see,"  she  went  on,  "that  our  talk  to-day 
was  almost  inspired.  My  web  is  woven,  my  picture  is 
painted,  and  to  me  Heaven  says,  '  Hold.'  The  thought 
that  it  might  be  so  was  in  your  mind,  was  it  not? " 

"Yes." 

"  And  I  answered  your  thought,  telling  you  that  time 
is  nothing.  This  I  tell  you  again  for  your  comfort  in  the 
days  that  remain  to  you  of  life.  Oh !  I  bless  God ;  I 
bless  God  Who  has  dealt  so  mercifully  with  me.  Where 
are  now  the  long  years  of  lonely  suffering  that  I  feared 

—  I  who  stand  upon  the  threshold  of  the  Eternal  ?  .  .  . 
I  can  talk  no  more,  the  water  is  rising  in  the  church  — 
already  it  is  about  my  knees ;  but  remember  every  word 
which  I  have  said  to  you ;  remember  that  we  are  wed  — 
truly  wed,  that  I  go  to  wait  for  you,  and  that  even  if 
you  do  not  see  me  I  will,  if  I  may,  be  near  you  always  — 
till  you  die,  and  afterwards  will  be  with  you  always 

—  always." 

"  Stay,"  cried  Morris. 

"  What  have  you  to  say  ?  Be  swift,  the  water  rises 
and  the  walls  are  cracking." 

"That  I  love  you  now  and  for  ever  and  for  ever;  that 
I  will  remember  everything ;  and  that  I  know  beyond  a 
doubt  that  you  have  seen,  and  speak  the  truth." 


A  MARRIAGE  AND  AFTER  243 

"  Thank  you  for  those  blessed  words,  and  for  this  life 
fare  you  well." 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence,  or  at  least  Stella's 
voice  was  silent,  while  Morris  stood  over  the  aerophone, 
the  sweat  running  from  his  face,  rocking  like  a  drunken 
man  in  his  agony  and  waiting  for  the  end.  Then  sud- 
denly loud,  clear,  and  triumphant,  broke  upon  his  ears 
the  sound  of  that  song  which  he  had  heard  her  sing 
upon  the  sinking  ship  when  her  death  seemed  near ;  the 
ancient  song  of  the  Over-Lord.  Once  more  at  the  last 
mortal  ebb,  while  the  water  rose  about  her  breast, 
Stella's  instincts  and  blood  had  asserted  themselves, 
and  forgetting  aught  else,  she  was  dying  as  her  pagan 
forefathers  had  died,  with  the  secret  ancient  chant  upon 
her  lips.  Yes,  she  sang  as  Skarphedinn  the  hero  sang 
while  the  flame  ate  out  his  life. 

The  song  swelled  on,  and  the  great  waters  boomed  an 
accompaniment.  Then  came  a  sound  of  crashing  walls, 
and  for  a  moment  it  ceased,  only  to  rise  again  still 
clearer  and  more  triumphant.  Again  a  crash  —  a  seeth- 
ing hiss  —  and  the  instrument  was  silent,  for  its  twin 
was  shattered.  Shattered  also  was  the  fair  shape  that 
held  the  spirit  of  Stella. 

Again  and  again  Morris  spoke  eagerly,  entreatingly, 
but  the  aerophone  was  dumb.  So  he  ceased  at  length, 
and  even  then  well  nigh  laughed  when  he  thought  that 
in  this  useless  piece  of  mechanism  he  saw  a  symbol  of 
his  own  soul,  which  also  had  lost  its  mate  and  could 
hold  true  converse  with  no  other. 

Then  he  started  up,  and  just  as  he  was,  ran  out  into 
the  raving  night. 


244  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

Three  hours  later,  when  the  sun  rose  upon  Christmas 
Day,  if  any  had  been  there  to  note  him  they  might  have 
seen  a  dishevelled  man  standing  alone  upon  the  lonely 
shore.  There  he  stood,  the  back-wash  of  the  mighty 
combers  hissing  about  his  knees  as  he  looked  seaward 
beneath  the  hollow  of  his  hand  at  a  spot  some  two 
hundred  yards  away,  where  one  by  one  their  long  lines 
were  broken  into  a  churning  yeast  of  foam. 

Morris  knew  well  what  broke  them  —  the  fallen  ruins 
of  the  church  that  now  was  Stella's  sepulchre,  and,  oh ! 
in  that  dark  hour,  he  would  have  been  glad  to  seek  her 
where  she  lay. 


CHAPTER   XVII 
THE  RETURN  OF  MARY 

CURIOUSLY  enough,  indirectly,  but  in  fact,  it  was  the 
circumstance  of  Stella's  sudden  and  mysterious  death 
that  made  Morris  a  rich  and  famous  man,  and  caused 
his  invention  of  the  aerophone  to  come  into  common  use. 
Very  early  on  the  following  morning,  but  not  before, 
she  was  missed  from  the  Rectory  and  sought  far  and 
wide.  One  of  the  first  places  visited  by  those  who 
searched  was  the  Abbey,  whither  they  met  Morris  re- 
turning through  the  gale,  wild-eyed,  flying-haired,  and 
altogether  strange  to  see.  They  asked  him  if  he  knew 
what  had  become  of  Miss  Fregelius. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "  she  has  been  crushed  or  drowned 
in  the  ruins  of  the  Dead  Church,  which  was  swept  away 
by  the  gale  last  night." 

Then  they  stared  and  asked  how  he  knew  this.  He 
answered  that,  being  unable  to  sleep  that  night  on 
account  of  the  storm,  he  had  gone  into  his  workshop 
when  his  attention  was  suddenly  attracted  by  the  bell 
of  the  aerophone,  by  means  of  which  he  learned  that 
Miss  Fregelius  had  been  cut  off  from  the  shore  in  the 
church.  He  added  that  he  ran  as  hard  as  he  could  to 
the  spot,  only  to  find  at  dawn  that  the  building  had 
entirely  vanished  in  the  gale,  and  that  the  sea  had  en- 
croached upon  the  land  by  at  least  two  hundred  paces. 

245 


246  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

Of  course  these  statements  concerning  the  aerophone 
and  its  capabilities  were  reported  all  over  the  world 
and  much  criticised  —  very  roughly  in  some  quarters. 
Thereupon  Morris  offered  to  demonstrate  the  truth  of 
what  he  had  said.  The  controversy  proved  sharp  ;  but 
of  this  he  was  glad;  it  was  a  solace  to  him,  perhaps 
even  it  prevented  him  from  plunging  headlong  into 
madness.  At  first  he  was  stunned ;  he  did  not  feel  very 
much.  Then  the  first  effects  of  the  blow  passed;  a 
sense  of  the  swiftness  and  inevitableness  of  this  awful 
consummation  seemed  to  sink  down  into  his  heart  and 
crush  him.  The  completeness  of  the  tragedy,  its  Greek- 
play  qualities,  were  overwhelming.  Question  and  an- 
swer, seed  and  fruit  —  there  was  no  space  for  thought 
or  growth  between  them.  The  curtain  was  down  upon 
the  Temporal,  and  lo !  almost  before  its  folds  had  shaken 
to  their  place,  it  had  risen  upon  the  Eternal.  His  nature 
reeled  beneath  this  knowledge  and  his  loss.  Had  it 
not  been  for  those  suspicions  and  attacks  it  might  have 
fallen. 

The  details  of  the  struggle  need  not  be  entered  into, 
as  they  have  little  to  do  with  the  life-story  of  Morris 
Monk.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  in  the  end  he  more 
than  carried  out  his  promises  under  the  severest  condi- 
tions, and  in  the  presence  of  various  scientific  bodies 
and  other  experts. 

Afterwards  came  the  natural  results ;  the  great  aero- 
phone company  was  floated,  in  which  Morris  as  vendor 
received  half  the  shares  —  he  would  take  no  cash  — 
which  shares,  by  the  way,  soon  stood  at  five  and  a 
quarter.  Also  he  found  himself  a  noted  man;  was 
asked  to  deliver  an  address  before  the  British  Asso- 


THE  RETURN  OF  MARY  247 

elation;  was  nominated  on  the  council  of  a  leading 
scientific  society,  and  in  due  course  after  a  year  or  two 
received  one  of  the  greatest  compliments  that  can  be 
paid  to  an  Englishman,  that  of  being  elected  to  its 
fellowship,  as  a  distinguished  person,  by  the  committee 
of  a  famous  Club.  Thus  did  Morris  prosper  greatly  — 
very  greatly,  and  in  many  different  ways;  but  with  all 
this  part  of  his  life  we  are  scarcely  concerned. 

On  the  day  of  his  daughter's  death  Morris  visited 
Mr.  Fregelius,  for  whom  he  had  a  message.  He  found 
the  old  man  utterly  crushed  and  broken. 

"The  last  of  the  blood,  Mr.  Monk,"  he  moaned,  when 
Morris,  hoarse-voiced  and  slow-worded,  had  convinced 
him  of  the  details  of  the  dreadful  fact,  "  the  last  of  the 
blood ;  and  I  left  childless.  At  least  you  will  feel  for 
me  and  with  me.  You  will  understand." 

It  will  be  seen  that  although  outside  of  some  loose  talk 
in  the  village,  which  indirectly  had  produced  results  so 
terrible,  no  one  had  ever  suggested  such  a  thing,  curi- 
ously enough,  by  some  intuitive  process,  Mr.  Fregelius 
who,  to  a  certain  extent,  at  any  rate,  guessed  his  daugh- 
ter's mind,  took  it  for  granted  that  she  had  been  in  love 
with  Morris.  He  seemed  to  know  also  by  the  same 
deductive  process  that  he  was  attached  to  her. 

"  I  do,  indeed,"  said  Morris,  with  a  sad  smile,  thinking 
that  if  only  the  clergyman  could  look  into  his  heart  he 
would  perhaps  be  somewhat  astonished  at  the  depth 
of  that  understanding  sympathy. 

"  I  told  you,"  went  on  Mr.  Fregelius,  "  and  you 
laughed  at  me,  that  it  was  most  unlucky  her  having 
sung  that  hateful  Norse  song,  the  '  Greeting  to  Death,' 
when  you  found  her  upon  the  steamer  Trondhjem." 


248  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

"  Everything  has  been  unlucky,  Mr.  Fregelius  —  or 
lucky,"  he  added  beneath  his  breath.  "  But  you  will 
like  to  know  that  she  died  singing  it.  The  aerophone 
told  me  that." 

"  Mr.  Monk,"  the  old  man  said,  catching  his  arm, 
"  my  daughter  was  a  strange  woman,  a  very  strange 
woman,  and  since  I  heard  this  dreadful  news  I  have 
been  afraid  that  perhaps  she  was  —  unhappy.  She  was 
leaving  her  home,  on  your  account  —  yes,  on  your 
account,  it's  no  use  pretending  otherwise,  although  no 
one  ever  told  me  so  —  and  —  that  she  knew  the  church 
was  going  to  be  washed  away." 

"  She  thought  you  might  think  so,"  answered  Morris, 
and  he  gave  him  Stella's  last  message.  Moreover,  he 
told  him  more  of  the  real  circumstances  than  he  re- 
vealed to  anybody  else.  He  told  him  what  nobody  else 
ever  knew,  for  on  that  lonely  coast  none  had  seen  him 
enter  or  leave  the  place,  how  he  had  met  her  in  the 
church  —  about  the  removal  of  the  instruments,  as  he 
left  it  to  be  inferred  —  and  at  her  wish  had  come  home 
alone  because  of  the  gossip  which  had  arisen.  He  ex- 
plained also  that  according  to  her  own  story,  from  some 
unexplained  cause  she  had  fallen  asleep  in  the  church 
after  his  departure,  and  awakened  to  find  herself  sur- 
rounded by  the  waters  with  all  hope  gone. 

"And  now  she  is  dead,  now  she  is  dead,"  groaned 
Mr.  Fregelius,  "  and  I  am  alone  in  the  world." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you,"  said  Morris  simply,  "  but  there  it 
is.  It  is  no  use  looking  backward,  we  must  look  forward. " 

"  Yes,  look  forward,  both  of  us,  since  she  is  hidden 
from  both.  You  see,  almost  from  the  first  I  knew  you 
were  fond  of  her,"  added  the  clergyman  simply. 


THE  RETURN  OF  MARY  249 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "I  am  fond  of  her,  though  of 
that  the  less  said  the  better,  and  because  our  case  is 
the  same  I  hope  that  we  shall  always  be  friends." 

"  You  are  very  kind ;  I  shall  need  a  friend  now.  I 
am  alone  now,  quite  alone,  and  my  heart  is  broken." 

Here  it  may  be  added  that  Morris  was  even  better 
than  his  word.  Out  of  the  wealth  that  came  to  him  in 
such  plenty,  for  instance,  he  was  careful  to  augment 
the  old  man's  resources  without  offending  his  feelings, 
by  adding  permanently  and  largely  to  the  endowment 
of  the  living.  Also,  he  attended  to  his  wants  in  many 
other  ways  which  need  not  be  enumerated,  and  not 
least  by  constantly  visiting  him.  Many  were  the  odd 
hours  and  the  evenings  that  shall  be  told  of  later,  which 
they  spent  together  smoking  their  pipes  in  the  Rectory 
study,  and  talking  of  her  who  had  gone,  and  whose 
lost  life  was  the  strongest  link  between  them.  Other- 
wise and  elsewhere,  except  upon  a  few  extraordinary 
occasions,  her  name  rarely  passed  the  lips  of  Morris. 

Yet  within  himself  he  mourned  and  mourned,  although 
even  in  the  first  bitterness  not  as  one  without  hope.  He 
knew  that  she  had  spoken  truth ;  that  she  was  not  dead, 
but  only  for  a  while  out  of  his  sight  and  hearing. 

Ten  days  had  passed,  and  for  Morris  ten  weary,  almost 
sleepless,  nights.  The  tragedy  of  the  destruction  of 
the  new  rector's  daughter  in  the  ruins  of  the  Dead 
Church  no  longer  occupied  the  tongues  of  men  and 
paragraphs  in  papers.  One  day  the  sea  gave  up  the 
hood  of  her  brown  ulster,  the  same  that  Morris  had 
been  seen  arranging  by  Stephen  and  Eliza  Layard; 
it  was  found  upon  the  beach.  After  this  even  the 


250  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

local  police  admitted  that  the  conjectures  as  to  her  end 
must  be  true,  and,  since  for  the  lack  of  anything  to 
hold  it  on  there  could  be  no  inquest,  the  excitement 
dwindled  and  died.  Nor  indeed,  as  her  father  an- 
nounced that  he  was  quite  satisfied  as  to  the  circum- 
stances of  his  daughter's  death,  was  any  formal  inquiry 
held  concerning  them.  A  few  people,  however,  still  be- 
lieved that  she  was  not  really  drowned  but  had  gone 
away  secretly  for  unknown  private  reasons.  The  world 
remembers  few  people,  even  if  they  be  distinguished, 
for  ten  whole  days.  It  has  not  time  for  such  long- 
continued  recollection  of  the  dead,  this  world  of  the 
living  who  hurry  on  to  join  them. 

If  this  is  the  case  with  the  illustrious,  the  wealthy 
and  the  powerful,  how  much  more  must  it  be  so  in  the 
instance  of  an  almost  unknown  girl,  a  stranger  in  the 
land  ?  Morris  and  her  father  remembered  her,  for  she 
was  part  of  their  lives  and  lived  on  with  their  lives. 
Stephen  Layard  mourned  for  the  woman  whom  he  had 
wished  to  marry  —  fiercely  at  first,  with  the  sharp  pain 
of  disappointed  passion ;  then  intermittently ;  and  at 
last,  after  he  was  comfortably  wedded  to  somebody  else, 
with  a  mild  and  sentimental  regret  three' or  four  times 
a  year.  Eliza,  too,  when  once  convinced  that  she  was 
"  really  dead,"  was  "  much  shocked,"  and  talked  vaguely 
of  the  judgments  and  dispensations  of  Providence,  as 
though  this  victim  were  pre-eminently  deserving  of  its 
most  stern  decrees.  It  was  rumoured,  however,  among 
the  observant  that  her  Christian  sorrow  was,  perhaps, 
tempered  by  a  secret  relief  at  the  absence  of  a  rival, 
who,  as  she  now  admitted,  sang  extremely  well  and  had 
beautiful  eyes. 


THE  RETURN  OF  MARY  2$l 

The  Colonel  also  thought  of  the  guest  whom  the  sea 
had  given  and  taken  away,  and  with  a  real  regret,  for 
this  girl's  force,  talents,  and  loveliness  had  touched  and 
impressed  him  who  had  sufficient  intellect  and  experi- 
ence to  know  that  she  was  a  person  cast  in  a  rare  and 
noble  mould.  But  to  Morris  he  never  mentioned  her 
name.  No  further  confidences  had  passed  between 
them  on  the  matter.  Yet  he  knew  that  to  his  son  this 
name  was  holy.  Therefore,  being  in  some  ways  a  wise 
man,  he  thought  it  well  to  keep  his  lips  shut  and  to  let 
the  dead  bury  their  dead. 

By  all  the  rest  Stella  Fregelius  was  soon  as  much  for- 
gotten as  though  she  had  never  walked  the  world  or 
breathed  its  air.  That  gale  had  done  much  damage  and 
taken  away  many  lives  —  all  down  the  coast  was  heard 
the  voice  of  mourning ;  hers  chanced  to  be  one  of  them, 
and  there  was  nothing  to  be  said. 

On  the  morning  of  the  eleventh  day  came  a  telegram 
from  Mary  addressed  to  Morris,  and  dated  from  London. 
It  was  brief  and  to  the  point.  "  Come  to  dinner  with 
me  at  Seaview,  and  bring  your  father.  —  MARY." 

When  Morris  drove  to  Seaview  that  evening  he  was 
as  a  man  is  in  a  dream.  Sorrow  had  done  its  work  on 
him,  agonising  his  nerves,  till  at  length  they  seemed  to 
be  blunted  as  with  a  very  excess  of  pain,  much  as  the 
nerves  of  victims  of  the  Inquisition  were  sometimes 
blunted,  till  at  length  they  could  scarcely  feel  the  pincers 
bite  or  the  irons  burn.  Always  abstemious,  also,  for  this 
last  twelve  days  he  had  scarcely  swallowed  enough  food 
to  support  him,  with  the  result  that  his  body  weakened 
and  suffered  with  his  mind. 


252  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

Then  there  was  a  third  trouble  to  contend  with,  —  the 
dull  and  gnawing  sense  of  shame  which  seemed  to  eat 
into  his  heart.  In  actual  fact,  he  had  been  faithful 
enough  to  Mary,  but  in  mind  he  was  most  unfaithful. 
How  could  he  come  to  her,  the  woman  who  was  to  be 
his  wife,  the  woman  who  had  dealt  so  well  by  him,  with 
the  memory  of  that  spiritual  marriage  at  the  altar  of  the 
Dead  Church  still  burning  in  his  brain  —  that  marriage 
which  now  was  consecrated  and  immortalised  by  death  ? 
What  had  he  to  give  her  that  was  worth  her  taking  ?  he, 
who  if  the  truth  were  known,  shrank  from  all  idea  of 
union  with  any  earthly  woman ;  who  longed  only  to  be 
allowed  to  live  out  his  time  in  a  solitude  as  complete  as 
he  could  find  or  fashion  ?  It  was  monstrous ;  it  was 
shameful ;  and  then  and  there  he  determined  that  before 
ever  he  stood  in  Monksland  church  by  the  side  of  Mary 
Person,  at  least  he  would  tell  her  the  truth,  and  give  her 
leave  to  choose.  To  his  other  sins  against  her  deceit 
should  not  be  added. 

"  Might  I  suggest,  Morris,"  said  the  Colonel,  who  as 
they  drove,  had  been  watching  his  son's  face  furtively  by 
the  light  of  the  brougham  lamp  — "  might  I  suggest 
that,  under  all  the  circumstances,  Mary  would  perhaps 
appreciate  an  air  a  little  less  reminiscent  of  funerals  ? 
You  may  recollect  that  several  months  have  passed  since 
you  parted." 

"  Yes,"  said  Morris,  "  and  a  great  deal  has  happened 
in  that  time." 

"  Of  course,  her  father  is  dead."  The  Colonel  alluded 
to  no  other  death.  "  Poor  Person  !  How  painfully  that 
beastly  window  in  the  dining-room  will  remind  me  of  him ! 
Come,  here  we  are ;  pull  yourself  together,  old  fellow." 


THE  RETURN  OF  MARY 

Morris  obeyed  as  best  he  could,  and  presently  found 
himself  following  the  Colonel  into  the  drawing-room,  for 
once  in  his  life,  as  he  reflected,  heartily  glad  to  have  the 
advantage  of  his  parent's  society.  He  could  scarcely 
be  expected  to  be  very  demonstrative  and  lover-like 
under  the  fire  of  that  observant  eyeglass. 

As  they  entered  the  drawing-room  by  one  door,  Mary, 
looking  very  handsome  and  imposing  in  a  low  black 
dress,  which  became  her  fair  beauty  admirably,  appeared 
at  the  other.  Catching  sight  of  Morris,  she  ran,  or 
rather  glided,  forward  with  the  graceful  gait  that  was 
one  of  her  distinctions,  and  caught  him  by  both  hands, 
bending  her  face  towards  him  in  open  and  unmistak- 
able invitation. 

In  a  moment  it  was  over  somehow,  and  she  was  say- 
ing: 

"  Morris,  how  thin  you  look,  and  there  are  great  black 
lines  under  your  eyes  !  Uncle,  what  have  you  been  doing 
to  him  ?  " 

"When  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  saying,  How-do- 
you-do  to  you,  my  dear,"  he  replied  in  a  somewhat 
offended  voice  —  for  the  Colonel  was  not  fond  of  being 
overlooked,  even  in  favour  of  an  interesting  son  —  "I 
shall  be  happy  to  do  my  best  to  answer  your  question." 

"Oh!  I  am  so  sorry,"  she  said,  advancing  her  fore- 
head to  be  kissed  ;  "but  we  saw  each  other  the  other  day, 
didn't  we,  and  one  can't  embrace  two  people  at  once, 
and  of  course  one  must  begin  somewhere.  But,  why 
have  you  made  him  so  thin  ?  " 

The  Colonel  surveyed  Morris  critically  with  his  eye- 
glass. 

"  Really,    my   dear   Mary,"    he   replied,  "  I  am   not 


254  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

responsible  for  the  variations  in  my  son's  habit  of  body. 
Then,  as  Morris  turned  away  irritably,  he  added  in  a 
stage  whisper,  "  He's  been  a  bit  upset,  poor  fellow ! 
He  felt  your  father's  death  dreadfully." 

Mary  winced  a  little,  then,  recovering  her  vivacity,  said : 

"  Well,  at  any  rate,  uncle,  I  am  glad  to  see  that  noth- 
ing of  the  sort  has  affected  your  health ;  I  never  saw  you 
looking  better." 

"  Ah !  my  dear,  as  we  grow  older  we  learn  resigna- 
tion -  -" 

"  And  how  to  look  after  ourselves,"  thought  Mary. 

At  that  moment  dinner  was  announced,  and  she  went 
in  on  Morris's  arm,  the  Colonel  gallantly  insisting  that 
it  should  be  so.  After  this  things  progressed  a  good 
deal  better.  The  first  plunge  was  over,  and  the  cool 
refreshing  waters  of  Mary's  conversation  seemed  to  give 
back  to  Morris's  system  some  of  the  tone  that  it  had 
lost.  Also,  when  he  thought  fit  to  use  it,  he  had  a 
strong  will,  and  he  thought  fit  this  night.  Lastly,  like 
many  a  man  in  a  quandary  before  him,  he  discovered  the 
strange  advantages  of  a  scientific  but  liberal  absorption 
of  champagne.  Mary  noticed  this  as  she  noticed  every- 
thing, and  said  presently  with  her  eyes  wide  open : 

"  Might  I  ask,  my  dear,  if  you  are  —  ill  ?  You  are 
eating  next  to  nothing,  and  that's  your  fourth  large 
glass  of  champagne  —  you  who  never  drank  more  than 
two.  Don't  you  remember  how  it  used  to  vex  my  poor 
dad,  because  he  said  that  it  always  meant  half  a  bottle 
wasted,  and  a  temptation  to  the  cook  ? " 

Morris  laughed  —  he  was  able  to  laugh  by  now  —  and 
replied,  as  it  happened,  with  perfect  truth,  that  he  had 
an  awful  toothache. 


THE  RETURN  OF  MARY  255 

"  Then  everything  is  explained,"  said  Mary.  "  Did 
you  ever  see  me  with  a  toothache?  Well,  I  should 
advise  you  not,  for  it  would  be  our  last  interview.  I  will 
paint  it  for  you  after  dinner  with  pure  carbolic  acid;  it's 
splendid,  that  is  if  you  don't  drop  any  on  the  patient's 
tongue." 

Morris  answered  that  he  would  stick  to  champagne. 
Then  Mary  began  to  narrate  her  experiences  in  the 
convent  in  a  fashion  so  funny  that  the  Colonel  could 
scarcely  control  his  laughter,  and  even  Morris,  tooth- 
ache, heartache,  and  all,  was  genuinely  amused. 

"  Imagine,  my  dear  Morris,"  she  said,  "you  know  the 
time  I  get  down  to  breakfast.  Or  perhaps  you  don't. 
It's  one  of  those  things  which  I  have  been  careful  to  con- 
ceal from  you,  but  you  will  one  day,  and  I  believe  that 
over  it  our  matrimonial  happiness  may  be  wrecked. 
Well,  at  what  hour  do  you  think  I  found  myself  expected 
to  be  up  in  that  convent? " 

"Seven,"  suggested  Morris. 

"  At  seven !  At  a  quarter  to  five,  if  you  please !  At 
a  quarter  to  five  every  morning  did  some  wretched  per- 
son come  and  ring  a  dinner-bell  outside  my  door.  And 
it  was  no  use  going  to  sleep  again,  not  the  least,  for  at 
half-past  five  two  hideous  old  lay-sisters  arrived  with 
buckets  of  water  —  they  have  a  perfect  passion  for  clean- 
liness—  and  began  to  scrub  out  the  cell  whether  you 
were  in  bed  or  whether  you  weren't." 

Then  she  rattled  on  to  other  experiences,  trivial 
enough  in  themselves,  but  so  entertaining  when  touched 
and  lightened  with  her  native  humour,  that  very  soon 
the  evening  had  worn  itself  pleasantly  away  without  a 
single  sad  or  untoward  word. 


2 $6  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

"  Good-night,  dear !  "  said  Mary  to  Morris,  who  this 
time  managed  to  embrace  her  with  becoming  warmth ; 
"  you  will  come  and  see  me  to-morrow,  won't  you  —  no, 
not  in  the  morning.  Remember  I  have  been  getting  up 
at  a  quarter  to  five  for  a  month,  and  I  am  trying  to 
equalise  matters  ;  but  after  luncheon.  Then  we  will  sit 
before  a  good  fire,  and  have  a  talk,  for  the  weather  is  so 
delightfully  bad  that  I  am  sure  I  shan't  be  forced  to 
take  exercise." 

"  Very  well,  at  three  o'clock,"  said  Morris,  when  the 
Colonel,  who  had  been  reflecting  to  himself,  broke  in. 

"  Look  here,  my  dear,  you  must  be  down  to  lunch,  or 
if  you  are  not  you  ought  to  be ;  so,  as  I  want  to  have  a 
chat  with  you  about  some  of  your  poor  father's  affairs, 
and  am  engaged  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  I  will  come  over 
then  if  you  will  allow  me." 

"  Certainly,  uncle,  if  you  like ;  but  wouldn't  Morris  do 
instead  —  as  representing  me,  I  mean?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  ;  "  when  you  are  married  he  will 
do  perfectly  well,  but  until  that  happy  event  I  am  afraid 
that  I  must  take  your  personal  opinion." 

"  Oh !  very  well,"  said  Mary  with  a  sigh ;  "  I  will 
expect  you  at  a  quarter  past  one." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
Two  EXPLANATIONS 

ACCORDINGLY,  at  a  quarter  past  one  on  the  following 
day  the  Colonel  arrived  at  Seaview,  went  in  to  lunch 
with  Mary,  and  made  himself  very  amusing  and  agree- 
able about  the  domestic  complications  of  his  old  friend, 
Lady  Rawlins  and  her  objectionable  husband,  and  other 
kindred  topics.  Then,  adroitly  enough,  he  changed  the 
conversation  to  the  subject  of  the  great  gale,  and  when 
he  had  talked  of  it  awhile,  said  suddenly : 

"I  suppose  that  you  have  heard  of  the  dreadful 
thing  that  happened  here." 

"  What  dreadful  thing  ? "  asked  Mary.  "  I  have  heard 
nothing ;  you  must  remember  that  I  have  been  in  a 
convent  where  one  does  not  see  the  English  papers." 

"  The  death  of  Stella  Fregelius,"  said  the  Colonel 
sadly. 

"  What !  the  daughter  of  the  new  rector  —  the  young 
lady  whom  Morris  took  off  the  wreck,  and  whom  I  have 
been  longing  to  ask  him  about,  only  I  forgot  last  night  ? 
Do  you  mean  to  say  that  she  is  dead  ? " 

"  Dead  as  the  sea  can  make  her.  She  was  in  the  old 
church  yonder  when  it  was  swept  away,  and  now  lies 
beneath  its  ruins  in  four  fathoms  of  water." 

"How  awful!"  said  Mary.  "Tell  me  about  it;  how 
did  it  happen  ?  " 

257 


258  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

"Well,  through  Morris,  poor  fellow,  so  far  as  I  can 
make  out,  and  that  is  why  he  is  so  dreadfully  cut  up. 
You  see  she  helped  him  to  carry  on  his  experiments 
with  that  machine,  she  sitting  in  the  church  and  he  at 
home  in  the  Abbey,  with  a  couple  of  miles  of  coast  and 
water  between  them.  Well,  you  are  a  woman  of  the 
world,  my  dear,  and  you  must  know  that  all  this  sort  of 
thing  means  a  great  deal  more  intimacy  than  is  de- 
sirable. How  far  that  intimacy  went  I  do  not  know, 
and  I  do  not  care  to  inquire,  though  for  my  part  I 
believe  that  it  was  a  very  little  way  indeed.  Still,  Eliza 
Layard  got  hold  of  some  cock  and  bull  tale,  and  you 
can  guess  the  rest." 

"  Perfectly,"  said  Mary  in  a  quiet  voice,  "  if  Eliza  was 
concerned  in  it ;  but  please  go  on  with  the  story." 

"  Well,  the  gossip  came  to  my  ears " 

"  Through  Eliza  ?  "  queried  Mary. 

"  Through  Eliza,  who  said "  and  he  told  her  about 

the  incident  of  the  ulster  and  the  dog-cart,  adding  that 
he  believed  it  to  be  entirely  untrue. 

As  Mary  made  no  comment  he  went  on  :  "I  forgot  to 
say  that  Miss  Fregelius  seems  to  have  refused  to  marry 
Stephen  Layard,  who  fell  violently  in  love  with  her, 
which,  to  my  mind,  accounts  for  some  of  this  gossip. 
Still,  I  thought  it  my  duty,  and  the  best  thing  I  could  do, 
to  give  a  friendly  hint  to  the  old  clergyman,  Stella's  father, 
a  funny,  withered-up  old  boy  by  the  way.  He  seems  to 
have  spoken  to  his  daughter  rather  indiscreetly,  whereon 
she  waylaid  me  as  I  was  walking  on  the  sands  and  in- 
formed me  that  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  leave  this 
place  for  London,  where  she  intended  to  earn  her  own 
living  by  singing  and  playing  on  the  violin.  I  must  tell 


TWO  EXPLANATIONS  259 

you  that  she  played  splendidly,  and,  in  my  opinion,  had 
one  of  the  most  glorious  contralto  voices  that  I  ever 
heard." 

"  She  seems  to  have  been  a  very  attractive  young 
woman,"  said  Mary,  in  the  same  quiet,  contemplative 
voice. 

"  I  think,"  went  on  the  Colonel,  "take  her  all  in  all, 
she  was  about  the  most  attractive  young  woman  that 
ever  I  saw,  poor  thing.  Upon  my  word,  my  dear,  old 
as  I  am,  I  fell  half  in  love  with  her  myself,  and  so  would 
you  if  you  had  seen  those  eyes  of  hers." 

"  I  remember,"  broke  in  Mary,  "  that  old  Mr.  Tomley, 
after  he  returned  from  inspecting  the  Northumberland 
living,  spoke  about  Miss  Fregelius's  wonderful  eyes  — 
at  the  dinner-party,  you  know,  on  the  night  when  Morris 
proposed  to  me,"  and  she  shivered  a  little  as  though  she 
had  turned  suddenly  cold. 

"  Well,  let  me  go  on  with  my  story.  After  she  had 
told  me  this,  and  I  had  promised  to  help  her  with  intro- 
ductions —  exactly  why  or  how  I  forget  —  but  I  asked 
her  flat  out  if  she  was  in  love  with  Morris.  Thereon  — 
I  assure  you,  my  dear  Mary,  it  was  the  most  painful 
scene  in  all  my  long  experience  —  the  poor  thing  turned 
white  as  a  sheet,  and  would  have  fallen  if  I  had  not 
caught  hold  of  her.  When  she  came  to  herself  a  little, 
she  admitted  frankly  that  this  was  her  case,  but  added 
—  of  which,  of  course,  one  may  believe  as  much  as  one 
likes,  that  she  had  never  known  it  until  I  asked  the 
question." 

"  I  think  that  quite  possible,"  said  Mary ;  "  and  really, 
uncle,  to  me  your  cross-examination  seems  to  have  been 
slightly  indiscreet." 


260  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

"  Possibly,  my  dear,  very  possibly ;  even  Solomon 
might  be  excused  for  occasionally  making  a  mistake 
where  the  mysterious  articles  which  young  ladies  call 
their  hearts  are  concerned.  I  tell  what  happened,  that 
is  all.  Shall  I  go  on  ?  " 

"  If  you  please." 

"  Well,  after  this  she  announced  that  she  meant  to 
see  Morris  once  to  say  good-bye  to  him  before  she  went 
to  London,  and  left  me.  Practically  the  next  thing  I 
heard  about  her  was  that  she  was  dead." 

"  Did  she  commit  suicide  ?  "  asked  Mary. 

"  It  is  said  not ;  it  is  suggested  that  after  Morris's 
interview  with  her  in  the  Dead  Church  —  for  I  gather 
there  was  an  interview  though  nobody  knows  about  it, 
and  that's  where  they  met  —  she  fell  asleep,  which 
sounds  an  odd  thing  to  do  in  the  midst  of  such  a  gale 
as  was  raging  on  Christmas  Eve,  and  so  was  over- 
whelmed. But  who  can  say?  Impressionable  and 
unhappy  women  have  done  such  deeds  before  now, 
especially  if  they  imagine  themselves  to  have  become 
the  object  of  gossip.  Of  course,  also,  the  mere  possi- 
bility of  such  a  thing  having  happened  on  his  account 
would  be,  and  indeed  has  been,  enough  to  drive  a  man 
like  Morris  crazy  with  grief  and  remorse." 

"  What  had  he  to  be  remorseful  for  ? "  asked  Mary. 
"  If  a  young  woman  chanced  to  fall  in  love  with  him, 
why  should  he  be  blamed,  or  blame  himself  for  that  ? 
After  all,  people's  affections  are  in  their  own  keeping." 

"  I  imagine  —  very  little,  if  anything.  At  least,  I 
know  this,  that  when  I  spoke  to  him  about  the  matter 
after  my  talk  with  her,  I  gathered  from  what  he  said 
that  there  was  absolutely  nothing  between  them.  To 


TWO  EXPLANATIONS  261 

be  quite  frank,  however,  as  I  have  tried  to  be  with 
you,  my  dear,  throughout  this  conversation,  I  also  gath- 
ered that  this  young  lady  had  produced  a  certain  effect 
upon  his  mind,  or  at  least  that  the  knowledge  that  she 
had  avowed  herself  to  be  attached  to  him  —  which  I  am 
afraid  I  let  out,  for  I  was  in  a  great  rage  —  produced 
some  such  effect.  Well,  afterwards  I  believe,  although 
I  have  asked  no  questions  and  am  not  sure  of  it,  he 
went  and  said  good-bye  to  her  in  this  church,  at  her 
request.  Then  this  dreadful  tragedy  happened,  and 
there  is  an  end  of  her  and  her  story." 

"  Have  you  any  object  in  telling  it  to  me,  uncle  ?  " 

"Yes,  my  dear,  I  have.  I  wished  you  to  know  the 
real  facts  before  they  reached  you  in  whatever  distorted 
version  Morris's  fancy  or  imagination,  or  exaggerated 
candour,  may  induce  him  to  present  them  to  you.  Also, 
my  dear,  even  if  you  find,  or  think  you  find  that  you 
have  cause  of  complaint  against  him,  I  hope  that  you 
will  see  your  way  to  being  lenient  and  shutting  your 
eyes  a  little." 

"Severity  was  never  my  strong  point,"  interrupted 
Mary. 

"  For  this  reason,"  went  on  the  Colonel ;  "  the  young 
woman  concerned  was  a  very  remarkable  person  ;  if  you 
could  have  heard  her  sing,  for  instance,  you  would  have 
said  so  yourself.  It  is  a  humiliating  confession,  but  I 
doubt  whether  one  young  man  out  of  a  hundred,  single, 
engaged,  or  married,  could  have  resisted  being  attracted 
by  her  to  just  such  an  extent  as  she  pleased,  especially 
if  he  were  flattered  by  the  knowledge  that  she  was  gen- 
uinely attracted  by  himself." 

Mary  made  no  answer. 


262  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

"  Didn't  you  say  you  had  some  documents  you  wanted 
me  to  sign  ? "  she  asked  presently. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  here  is  the  thing,"  and  he  pulled  a  paper 
out  of  his  pocket ;  "  the  lawyers  write  that  it  need  not 
be  witnessed." 

Mary  glanced  at  it.  "  Couldn't  Morris  have  brought 
this  ?  —  he  is  your  co-executor,  isn't  he  ?  —  and  saved 
you  the  trouble  ?  " 

"  Undoubtedly  he  could;  but " 

"  But  what  ?  " 

"Well,  if  you  want  to  know,  my  dear,"  said  the 
Colonel,  with  a  grave  countenance,  "just  now  Morris  is 
in  a  state  in  which  I  do  not  care  to  leave  more  of  this 
important  business  in  his  hands  than  is  necessary." 

"  What  am  I  to  understand  by  that,  uncle  ?  "  she  said, 
looking  at  him  shrewdly.  "  Do  you  mean  that  he  is  — 
not  quite  well  ? " 

"Yes,  Mary,  I  mean  that  —  he  is  not  quite  well ;  that  is, 
if  my  observation  goes  for  anything.  I  mean,"  he  went 
on  with  quiet  vehemence,  "  I  mean  that  —  just  at  present, 
of  course,  he  has  been  so  upset  by  this  miserable  affair 
that  for  my  part  I  wouldn't  put  any  confidence  in  what 
he  says  about  it,  or  about  anything  else.  The  thing  has  got 
upon  his  nerves  and  rendered  him  temporarily  unfit  for 
the  business  of  ordinary  life.  You  know  that  at  the  best 
of  times  he  is  a  very  peculiar  man  and  not  quite  like 
other  people. 

"Well,  have  you  signed  that?  Thank  you,  my  dear. 
By  Jove !  I  must  be  off ;  I  shall  be  late  as  it  is.  I  may 
rely  upon  your  discretion  as  to  what  we  have  been  talk- 
ing about,  may  I  not  ?  but  I  thought  it  as  well  to  let  you 
know  how  the  land  lay." 


TWO  EXPLANATIONS  263 

"Yes,  uncle;  and  thank  you  for  taking  so  much 
trouble." 

When  the  door  had  closed  behind  him  Mary  reflected 
awhile.  Then  she  said  to  herself  : 

"  He  thinks  Morris  is  a  little  off  his  head,  and  has 
come  here  to  warn  me.  I  should  not  be  surprised,  and 
I  daresay  that  he  is  right.  Any  way,  a  new  trouble  has 
risen  up  between  us,  the  shadow  of  another  woman,  poor 
thing.  Well,  shadows  melt,  and  the  dead  do  not  come 
back.  She  seems  to  have  been  very  charming  and 
clever,  and  I  daresay  that  she  fascinated  him  for  a  while, 
but  with  kindness  and  patience  it  will  all  come  right. 
Only  I  do  hope  that  he  will  not  insist  upon  making  me 
too  many  confidences." 

So  thought  Mary,  who  by  nature  was  forgiving,  gentle, 
and  an  optimist;  not  guessing  how  sorely  her  patience  as 
an  affianced  wife,  and  her  charity  as  a  woman  of  the 
world,  would  be  tried  within  the  hour. 

From  all  of  which  it  will  be  seen  that  for  once  the 
diplomacy  of  the  Colonel  had  prospered  somewhat 
beyond  its  deserts.  The  departed  cannot  explain  or 
defend  themselves,  and  Morris's  possible  indiscretions 
already  stood  discounted  in  the  only  quarter  where  they 
might  do  harm. 

Half  an  hour  later  Mary,  sitting  beside  the  fire  with 
her  toes  upon  the  grate  and  her  face  to  the  window, 
perceived  Morris  on  the  gravel  drive,  wearing  a  pre- 
occupied and  rather  wretched  air.  She  noted,  moreover, 
that  before  he  rang  the  bell  he  paused  for  a  moment  as 
though  to  shake  himself  together. 

"  Here  you  are  at  last,"  she  said,  cheerfully,  as  he 
bent  down  to  kiss  her,  "  seven  whole  minutes  before  your 


264  STELLA   FREGELIUS 

time,  which  is  very  nice  of  you.  Now,  sit  down  there 
and  get  warm,  and  we  will  have  a  good,  long  talk." 

Morris  obeyed.  "  My  father  has  been  lunching  with 
you,  has  he  not?"  he  said  somewhat  nervously. 

"Yes,  dear,  and  telling  me  all  the  news,  and  a  sad 
budget  it  seems  to  be ;  about  the  dreadful  disasters  of  the 
great  gale  and  the  death  of  that  poor  girl  who  was 
staying  with  you,  Miss  Fregelius." 

At  the  mention  of  this  name  Morris's  face  contorted 
itself,  as  the  face  of  a  man  might  do  who  was  seized  with 
a  sudden  pang  of  sharp  and  unexpected  agony. 

"  Mary,"  he  said,  in  a  hoarse  and  broken  voice,  "  I 
have  a  confession  to  make  to  you,  and  I  must  make  it  — 
about  this  dead  woman,  I  mean.  I  will  not  sail  under 
false  colours;  you  must  know  all  the  truth,  and  then 
judge." 

"  Dear  me,"  she  answered ;  "  this  sounds  dreadfully 
tragic.  But  I  may  as  well  tell  you  at  once  that  I  have 
already  heard  some  gossip." 

"  I  daresay ;  but  you  cannot  have  heard  all  the  truth, 
for  it  was  known  only  to  me  and  her." 

Now,  do  what  she  would  to  prevent  it,  her  alarm 
showed  itself  in  Mary's  eyes. 

"  What  am  I  to  understand  ?  "  she  said  in  a  low  voice 
—  and  she  looked  a  question. 

"  Oh,  no !  "  he  answered  with  a  faint  smile  ;  "nothing 
at  all " 

"  Not  that  you  have  been  embracing  her,  for  instance  ? 
That,  I  understand,  is  Eliza  Layard's  story." 

"  No,  no ;  I  never  did  such  a  thing  in  my  life." 

A  little  sigh  of  relief  broke  from  Mary's  lips.  At  the 
worst  this  was  but  an  affair  of  sentiment. 


TWO  EXPLANATION'S  26$ 

"  I  think,  dear,"  she  said  in  her  ordinary  slow  voice, 
"  that  you  had  better  set  out  the  trouble  in  your  own 
words,  with  as  few  details  as  possible,  or  none  at  all. 
Such  things  are  painful,  are  they  not  —  especially  where 
the  dead  are  concerned  ? " 

Morris  bowed  his  head  and  began :  "  You  know  I 
found  her  on  the  ship,  singing  as  she  only  could  sing, 
and  she  was  a  very  strange  and  beautiful  woman  — 
perhaps  beautiful  is  not  the  word  —  " 

"  It  will  do,"  interrupted  Mary ;  "  at  any  rate,  you 
thought  her  beautiful." 

"Then  afterwards  we  grew  intimate,  very  intimate, 
without  knowing  it,  almost  —  indeed,  I  am  not  sure  that 
we  should  ever  have  known  it  had  it  not  been  for  the 
mischief-making  of  Eliza  Layard  — 

"  May  she  be  rewarded  !  "  ejaculated  Mary. 

"Well,  and  after  she  —  that  is,  Eliza  Layard  —  had 
spoken  to  my  father,  he  attacked  Mr.  Fregelius,  his 
daughter,  and  myself,  and  it  seems  that  she  confessed 
to  my  father  that  she  was  —  was  — 

"In  love  with  you  —  not  altogether  unnatural,  per- 
haps, from  my  point  of  view;  though,  of  course,  she 
oughtn't  to  have  been  so." 

"  Yes,  and  said  that  she  was  going  away  and  —  on 
Christmas  Eve  we  met  there  in  the  Dead  Church.  Then 
somehow  —  for  I  had  no  intention  of  such  a  thing  —  all 
the  truth  came  out,  and  I  found  that  I  was  no  longer 
master  of  myself,  and  —  God  forgive  me !  and  you,  Mary, 
forgive  me,  too  —  that  I  loved  her  also." 

"And  afterwards?"  said  Mary,  moving  her  skirts  a 
little. 

"  And  afterwards  —  oh  !  it  will  sound  strange  to  you 


266  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

—  we  made  some  kind  of  compact  for  the  next  world, 
a  sort  of  spiritual  marriage ;  I  can  call  it  nothing  else. 
Then  I  shook  hands  with  her  and  went  away,  and  in 
a  few  hours  she  was  dead  —  dead.  But  the  compact 
stands,  Mary ;  yes,  that  compact  stands  for  ever." 

"  A  compact  of  a  spiritual  marriage  in  a  place  where 
there  is  no  marriage.  Do  you  mean,  Morris,  that  you 
wish  this  strange  proceeding  to  destroy  your  physical 
and  earthly  engagement  to  myself  ? " 

"  No,  no  ;  nor  did  she  wish  it ;  she  said  so.  But  you 
must  judge.  I  feel  that  I  have  done  you  a  dreadful 
wrong,  and  I  was  determined  that  you  should  know  the 
worst." 

"  That  is  very  good  of  you,"  Mary  said,  reflectively, 
"  for  really  there  is  no  reason  why  you  should  have  told 
me  this  peculiar  story.  Morris,  you  have  been  working 
pretty  hard  lately,  have  you  not  ? " 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  absently,  "  I  suppose  I  have." 

"  Was  this  young  lady  what  is  called  a  mystic  ?  " 

"Perhaps.  Danish  people  often  are.  At  any  rate, 
she  saw  things  more  clearly  than  most.  I  mean  that 
the  future  was  nearer  to  her  mind ;  and  in  a  sense,  the 
past  also." 

"  Indeed.  You  must  have  found  her  a  congenial 
companion.  I  suppose  that  you  talked  a  good  deal  of 
these  things  ? " 

"  Sometimes  we  did." 

"  And  discovered  that  your  views  were  curiously  alike  ? 
For  when  one  mystic  meets  another  mystic,  and  the  other 
mystic  has  beautiful  eyes  and  sings  divinely,  the  spiritual 
marriage  will  follow  almost  as  a  matter  of  course.  What 
else  is  to  be  expected  ?  But  I  am  glad  that  you  were 


TWO  EXPLANATIONS  267 

faithful  to  your  principles,  both  of  you,  and  clung  fast 
to  the  etherial  side  of  things." 

Morris  writhed  beneath  this  satire,  but  finding  no  con- 
venient answer  to  it,  made  none. 

"  Do  you  remember,  my  dear  ? "  went  on  Mary,  "  the 
conversation  we  had  one  day  in  your  workshop  before 
we  were  engaged  —  that's  years  ago,  isn't  it  —  about 
star-gazing  considered  as  a  fine  art  ?  " 

"  I  remember  something,"  he  said. 

"  That  I  told  you,  for  instance,  that  it  might  be  better 
if  you  paid  a  little  more  attention  to  matters  physical, 
lest  otherwise  you  should  go  on  praying  for  vision  till 
you  could  see,  and  for  power  until  you  could  create  ?  " 

Morris  nodded. 

"  Well,  and  I  think  I  said  —  didn't  I  ?  that  if  you  in- 
sisted upon  following  these  spiritual  exercises,  the  result 
might  be  that  they  would  return  upon  you  in  some  con- 
crete shape,  and  take  possession  of  you,  and  lead  you 
into  company  and  surroundings  which  most  of  us  think 
it  wholesome  to  avoid." 

"  Yes,  you  said  something  like  that." 

"  It  wasn't  a  bad  bit  of  prophecy,  was  it  ? "  went  on 
Mary,  rubbing  her  chin  reflectively,  "and  you  see  his 
Satanic  Majesty  knew  very  well  how  to  bring  about  its 
fulfilment.  Mystical,  lovely,  and  a  wonderful  mistress 
of  music,  which  you  adore  ;  really,  one  would  think  that 
the  bait  must  have  been  specially  selected." 

Crushed  though  he  was,  Morris's  temper  began  to  rise 
beneath  the  lash  of  Mary's  sarcasm.  He  knew,  how- 
ever, that  it  was  her  method  of  showing  jealousy  and 
displeasure,  both  of  them  perfectly  natural,  and  did  his 
best  to  restrain  himself. 


268  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

"I  do  not  quite  understand  you,"  he  said.  "Also, 
you  are  unjust  to  her." 

"  Not  at  all.  I  daresay  that  in  herself  she  was  what 
you  think  her,  a  perfect  angel ;  indeed,  the  descriptions 
that  I  have  heard  from  your  father  and  yourself  leave 
no  doubt  of  it  in  my  mind.  But  even  angels  have  been 
put  to  bad  purposes ;  perhaps  their  innocence  makes  it 
possible  to  take  advantage  of  them 

He  opened  his  lips  to  speak,  but  she  held  up  her  hand 
and  went  on : 

"You  mustn't  think  me  unsympathetic  because  I 
put  things  as  they  appear  to  my  very  mundane  mind. 
Look  here,  Morris,  it  just  comes  to  this :  If  this  exceed- 
ingly attractive  young  lady  had  made  love  to  you,  or 
had  induced  you  to  make  love  to  her,  so  that  you  ran 
away  with  her,  or  anything  else,  of  course  you  would 
have  behaved  badly  and  cruelly  to  me,  but  at  least  your 
conduct  would  be  natural,  and  to  be  explained.  We  all 
know  that  men  do  this  kind  of  thing,  and  women  too, 
for  the  matter  of  that,  under  the  influence  of  passion  — 
and  are  often  very  sorry  for  it  afterwards.  But  she 
didn't  do  this;  she  took  you  on  your  weak  side,  which 
she  understood  thoroughly  —  probably  because  it  was 
her  own  weak  side  —  and  out-Heroded  Herod,  or, 
rather,  out-mysticised  the  mystic,  finishing  up  with  some 
spiritual  marriage,  which,  if  it  is  anything  at  all,  is 
impious.  What  right  have  we  to  make  bargains  for 
the  Beyond,  about  which  we  know  nothing  ? " 

"  She  did  know  something,"  said  Morris,  with  a  sullen 
conviction. 

"You  think  she  did  because  you  were  reduced  to  a 
state  of  mind  in  which,  if  she  had  told  you  that  the  sun 


TWO  EXPLANATIONS  269 

goes  round  the  earth,  you  would  quite  readily  have 
believed  her.  My  dearest  Morris,  that  way  madness 
lies.  Perhaps  you  understand  now  what  I  have  been 
driving  at,  and  the  best  proof  of  the  absurdity  of  the 
whole  thing  is  that  I,  stupid  as  I  am,  from  my  intimate 
knowledge  of  your  character  since  childhood,  was  able 
to  predict  that  something  of  this  sort  would  certainly 
happen  to  you.  You  will  admit  that  is  a  little  odd, 
won't  you  ? " 

"  Yes,  it's  odd ;  or,  perhaps,  it  shows  that  you  have 
more  of  the  inner  sight  than  you  know.  But  there  were 
circumstances  about  the  story  which  you  would  find 
difficult  to  explain." 

"  Not  in  the  least.  In  your  own  answer  lies  the  expla- 
nation —  your  tendency  to  twist  things.  I  prophesy 
certain  developments  from  my  knowledge  of  your  char- 
acter, whereupon  you  at  once  credit  me  with  second 
sight,  which  is  absurd." 

"  I  don't  see  the  analogy,"  said  Morris. 

"  Don't  you  ?  I  do.  All  this  soul  business  is  just 
a  love  affair  gone  wrong.  If  circumstances  had  been 
a  little  different  —  if,  for  instance,  there  had  been  no 
Mary  Porson  —  I  doubt  whether  anybody  would  have 
heard  much  about  spiritual  marriages.  Somehow  I 
think  that  things  would  have  settled  down  into  a  more 
usual  groove." 

Morris  did  not  attempt  to  answer.  He  felt  that  Mary 
held  all  the  cards,  and,  not  unnaturally,  was  in  a  mood  to 
play  them.  Moreover,  it  was  desecration  to  him  to  dis- 
cuss Stella's  most  secret  beliefs  with  any  other  woman, 
and  especially  with  Mary.  Their  points  of  view  were 
absolutely  and  radically  different.  The  conflict  was  a 


2/0  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

conflict  between  the  natural  and  the  spiritual  law ;  or,  in 
other  words,  between  hard,  brutal  facts,  and  theories  as 
impalpable  as  the  perfume  of  a  flower,  or  the  sound 
waves  that  stirred  his  aerophone.  Moreover,  he  could 
see  clearly  that  Mary's  interpretation  of  this  story  was 
simple ;  namely,  that  he  had  fallen  into  temptation,  and 
that  the  shock  of  his  parting  from  the  lady  concerned, 
followed  by  her  sudden  and  violent  death,  had  bred 
illusions  in  his  mind.  In  short,  that  he  was  slightly 
crazy ;  therefore,  to  be  well  scolded,  pitied,  and  looked 
after  rather  than  sincerely  blamed.  The  position  was 
scarcely  heroic,  or  one  that  any  man  would  choose  to  fill; 
still,  he  felt  that  it  had  its  conveniences ;  that,  at  any 
rate,  it  must  be  accepted. 

"All  these  questions  are  very  much  a  matter  of  opin- 
ion," he  said ;  then  added,  unconsciously  reflecting  one 
of  Stella's  sayings,  "  and  I  daresay  that  the  truth  is  for 
each  of  us  exactly  what  each  of  us  imagines  it  to  be." 

"  I  was  always  taught  that  the  truth  is  the  truth,  quite 
irrespective  of  our  vague  and  often  silly  imaginings ;  the 
difficulty  being  to  find  out  exactly  what  it  is." 

"  Perhaps,"  answered  Morris,  declining  argument 
which  is  always  useless  between  people  who  are  deter- 
mined not  to  sympathise  with  each  other's  views.  "  I 
knew  that  you  would  think  my  story  foolish.  I  should 
never  have  troubled  you  with  it,  had  I  not  felt  it  to  be 
my  duty,  for  naturally  the  telling  of  such  a  tale  puts  a 
man  in  a  ridiculous  light." 

"  I  don't  think  you  ridiculous,  Morris ;  I  think  that 
you  are  suffering  slightly  from  shock,  that  is  all.  What 
I  say  is  that  I  detest  all  this  spiritual  hocus-pocus  to 
which  you  have  always  had  a  leaning.  I  fear  and  hate 


TWO  EXPLANATIONS  2/1 

it  instinctively,  as  some  people  hate  cats,  because  I  know 
that  it  breeds  mischief,  and  that,  as  I  said  before,  people 
who  go  on  trying  to  see,  do  see,  or  fancy  that  they  do. 
While  we  are  in  the  world  let  the  world  and  its  limita- 
tions be  enough  for  us.  When  we  go  out  of  the  world, 
then  the  supernatural  may  become  the  natural,  and 
cease  to  be  hurtful  and  alarming." 

"  Yes,"  said  Morris,  "  those  are  very  good  rules. 
Well,  Mary,  I  have  told  you  the  history  of  this  sad 
adventure  of  which  the  book  is  now  closed  by  death, 
and  I  can  only  say  that  I  am  humiliated.  If  anybody 
had  said  to  me  six  months  ago  that  I  should  have  to 
come  to  you  with  such  a  confession,  I  should  have 
answered  that  he  was  a  liar.  But  now  you  see " 

"Yes,"  repeated  Mary,  "I  see." 

"  Then  will  you  give  me  your  answer  ?  For  you  must 
judge;  I  have  told  you  that  you  must  judge." 

"Judge  not,  that  ye  be  not  judged,"  answered  Mary. 
"  Who  am  I  that  I  should  pass  sentence  on  your  fail- 
ings ?  Goodness  knows  that  I  have  plenty  of  my  own  ; 
if  you  don't  believe  me,  go  and  ask  the  nuns  at  that 
convent.  Whatever  were  the  rights  or  the  wrongs  of  it, 
the  thing  is  finished  and  done  with,  and  nobody  can  be 
more  sorry  for  that  unfortunate  girl  than  I  am.  Also  I 
think  that  you  have  behaved  very  well  in  coming  to  tell 
me  about  your  trouble;  but  then  that  is  like  you,  Morris, 
for  you  couldn't  be  deceitful,  however  hard  you  might  try. 

"  So,  dear,  with  your  leave,  we  will  say  no  more  about 
Stella  Fregelius  and  her  spiritual  views.  When  I  en- 
gaged myself  to  you,  as  I  told  you  at  the  time,  I  did  so 
with  my  eyes  open,  for  better  or  for  worse,  and  unless 
you  tell  me  right  out  that  you  don't  want  me,  I  have  no 


2/2  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

intention  of  changing  my  mind,  especially  as  you  need 
looking  after,  and  are  not  likely  to  come  across  another 
Stella. 

"  There,  I  haven't  talked  so  much  for  months ;  I  am 
quite  tired,  and  wish  to  forget  all  about  these  disagree- 
ables. I  am  afraid  I  have  spoken  sharply,  but  if  so  you 
must  make  allowances,  for  such  stories  are  apt  to  sour 
the  sweetest-tempered  women  —  for  half  an  hour.  If  I 
have  seemed  bitter  and  cross,  dear,  it  is  because  I  love 
you  better  than  any  creature  in  the  world,  and  can't  bear 

to  think So  you  must  forgive  me.  Do  you, 

Morris  ? " 

"  Forgive !  /  forgive  !  "  he  stammered  overwhelmed. 

"  There,"  she  said  again,  very  softly,  stretching  out 
her  arms,  "  come  and  give  me  a  kiss,  and  let  us  change 
the  subject  once  and  for  ever.  I  want  to  tell  you  about 
my  poor  father;  he  left  some  messages  for  you,  Morris." 


CHAPTER   XIX 

MORRIS,  THE  MARRIED  MAN 

MORE  than  three  years  had  gone  by.  Within  twelve 
weeks  of  the  date  of  the  conversation  recorded  in  the 
last  chapter  Morris  and  Mary  were  married  in  Monks- 
land  church.  Although  the  wedding  was  what  is  called 
"  quiet "  on  account  of  the  recent  death  of  the  bride's 
father,  the  Colonel,  who  gave  her  away,  was  careful  that 
it  should  be  distinguished  by  a  certain  stamp  of  modest 
dignity,  which  he  considered  to  be  fitting  to  the  station 
and  fortune  of  the  parties.  To  him,  indeed,  this  union 
was  the  cause  of  heartfelt  and  earnest  rejoicings,  which 
is  not  strange,  seeing  that  it  meant  nothing  less  than 
a  new  lease  of  life  to  an  ancient  family  that  was  on 
the  verge  of  disappearance.  Had  Morris  not  married 
the  race  would  have  become  extinct,  at  any  rate  in  the 
direct  line;  and  had  he  married  where  there  was  no 
money,  it  might,  as  his  father  thought,  become  bankrupt, 
which  in  his  view  was  almost  worse. 

The  one  terror  which  had  haunted  the  Colonel  for 
years  like  a  persistent  nightmare  was  that  a  day  seemed 
to  be  at  hand  when  the  Monks  would  be  driven  from 
Monksland,  where,  from  sire  to  son,  they  had  sat  for 
so  many  generations.  That  day  had  nearly  come  when 
he  was  a  young  man  ;  indeed,  it  was  only  averted  by  his 
marriage  with  the  somewhat  humbly  born  Miss  Person, 

273 


2/4  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

who  brought  with  her  sufficient  dowry  to  enable  him  to 
pay  off  the  major  portion  of  the  mortgages  which  then 
crippled  the  estate.  But  at  that  time  agriculture  flour- 
ished, and  the  rents  from  the  property  were  considerable ; 
moreover,  the  Colonel  was  never  of  a  frugal  turn  of 
mind.  So  it  came  about  that  every  farthing  was  spent. 

Afterwards  followed  a  period  of  falling  revenues  and 
unlet  farms.  But  still  the  expenses  went  on,  with  the 
result,  as  the  reader  knows,  that  at  the  opening  of  this 
history  things  were  worse  than  they  had  ever  been,  and 
indeed,  without  the  help  received  from  Mr.  Person,  must 
ere  that  have  reached  their  natural  end.  Now  the  mar- 
riage of  his  son  with  a  wealthy  heiress  set  a  period  to 
all  such  anxiety,  and  unless  the  couple  should  be  disap- 
pointed of  issue,  made  it  as  certain  as  anything  can  be  in 
this  mutable  world,  that  for  some  generations  to  come, 
at  any  rate,  the  name  of  Monk  of  Monksland  would  still 
appear  in  the  handbooks  of  county  families. 

In  the  event  these  fears  proved  to  be  groundless, 
since  by  an  unexpected  turn  of  the  wheel  of  chance 
Morris  became  a  rich  man  in  reward  of  his  own  exer- 
tions, and  was  thus  made  quite  independent  of  his  wife's 
large  fortune.  This,  however,  was  a  circumstance  which 
the  Colonel  could  not  be  expected  to  foresee,  for  how 
could  he  believe  that  an  electrical  invention  which  he 
looked  upon  as  a  mere  scientific  toy  would  ultimately 
bring  to  its  author  not  only  fame,  but  an  income  of 
many  thousands  per  annum  ?  Yet  this  happened. 

Other  things  happened  also  which,  under  the  circum- 
stances, were  quite  as  satisfactory,  seeing  that  within 
two  years  of  his  marriage  Morris  was  the  father  of  a 
son  and  daughter,  so  that  the  old  Abbey,  where,  by  the 


MORRIS,   THE  MARRIED  MAN  275 

especial  request  of  the  Colonel,  they  had  established 
themselves,  once  more  echoed  to  the  voices  of  little 
children. 

In  those  days,  if  anyone  among  his  acquaintance  had 
been  asked  to  point  out  an  individual  as  prosperous  and 
happy  as,  under  the  most  favoured  circumstances,  it  is 
given  to  a  mortal  to  be,  he  would  unhesitatingly  have 
named  Morris  Monk. 

What  was  there  lacking  to  this  man?  He  had  lineage 
that  in  his  own  neighbourhood  gave  him  standing  better 
than  that  of  many  an  upstart  baronet  or  knight,  and 
with  it  health  and  wealth.  He  had  a  wife  who  was 
acknowledged  universally  to  be  one  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful, charming,  and  witty  women  in  the  county,  whose 
devotion  to  himself  was  so  marked  and  open  that  it  be- 
came a  public  jest;  who  had,  moreover,  presented  him 
with  healthy  and  promising  offspring.  In  addition  to 
all  these  good  things  he  had  suddenly  become  in  his 
own  line  one  of  the  most  famous  persons  in  the  world, 
so  that,  wherever  civilized  man  was  to  be  found,  there 
his  name  was  known  as  "  Monk,  who  invented  that 
marvellous  machine,  the  aerophone."  Lastly,  there 
was  no  more  need  for  him,  as  for  most  of  us,  to  stagger 
down  his  road  beneath  a  never  lessening  burden  of 
daily  labour.  His  work  was  done ;  a  great  conception 
completed  after  half  a  score  of  years  of  toil  and  experi- 
ment had  crowned  it  with  unquestionable  success.  Now 
he  could  sit  at  ease  and  watch  the  struggles  of  others 
less  fortunate. 

There  are,  however,  few  men  on  the  right  side  of 
sixty  whose  souls  grow  healthier  in  idleness.  Although 


2/6  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

nature  often  recoils  from  it,  man  was  made  to  work,  and 
he  who  will  not  work  calls  down  upon  himself  some 
curse,  visible  or  invisible,  as  he  who  works,  although 
the  toil  seem  wasted,  wakes  up  one  day  to  find  the 
arid  wilderness  where  he  wanders  strown  with  a 
manna  of  blessing.  This  should  be  the  prayer  of  all 
of  understanding,  that  whatever  else  it  may  please 
Heaven  to  take  away,  there  may  be  left  to  them  the 
power  and  the  will  to  work,  through  disappointment, 
through  rebuffs,  through  utter  failure  even,  still  to 
work.  Many  things  for  which  they  are  or  are  not 
wholly  responsible  are  counted  to  men  as  sins.  Surely, 
however,  few  will  press  more  heavily  upon  the  beam  of 
the  balance,  when  at  length  we  are  commanded  to  un- 
fold the  talents  which  we  have  been  given  and  earned, 
than  those  fateful  words :  "  Lord,  mine  lies  buried  in 
its  napkin,"  or  worse  still :  "  Lord,  I  have  spent  mine 
on  the  idle  pleasures  which  my  body  loved." 

Therefore  it  was  not  to  the  true  welfare  of  Morris 
when  through  lack  of  further  ambition,  or  rather  of  the 
sting  of  that  spur  of  necessity  which  drives  most  men 
on,  he  rested  upon  his  oars,  and  in  practice  abandoned 
his  labours,  drifting  down  the  tide.  No  man  of  high 
intelligence  and  acquisitive  brain  can  toil  arduously  for 
a  period  of  years  and  suddenly  cease  from  troubling  to 
find  himself,  as  he  expects,  at  rest  For  then  into  the 
swept  and  garnished  chambers  of  that  empty  mind  enter 
seven  or  more  blue  devils.  Depression  marks  him  for 
its  own  ;  melancholy  forebodings  haunt  him  ;  remorse  for 
past  misdeeds  long  repented  of  is  his  daily  companion. 
With  these  Erinnyes,  more  felt  perhaps  than  any  of 
them,  comes  the  devastating  sense  that  he  is  thwarting 


MORRIS,   THE  MARRIED  MAN  2/7 

the  best  instinct  of  his  own  nature  and  the  divine  com- 
mand to  labour  while  there  is  still  light,  because  the 
night  draws  on  apace  in  which  no  man  can  labour. 

Mary  was  fond  of  society,  in  which  she  liked  to  be 
accompanied  by  her  husband,  so  Morris,  whose  one 
great  anxiety  was  to  please  his  wife  and  fall  in  with 
her  every  wish,  went  to  a  great  many  parties  which  he 
hated.  Mary  liked  change  also,  so  it  came  about  that 
three  months  in  the  season  were  spent  in  London,  where 
they  had  purchased  a  house  in  Green  Street  that  was 
much  frequented  by  the  Colonel,  and  another  two,  or 
sometimes  three,  months  at  the  villa  on  the  Riviera, 
which  Mary  was  very  fond  of  on  account  of  its  asso- 
ciations with  her  parents. 

Also  in  the  summer  and  shooting  seasons,  when  they 
were  at  home,  the  old  Abbey  was  kept  full  of  guests; 
for  we  may  be  sure  that  people  so  rich  and  distinguished 
did  not  lack  for  friends,  and  Mary  made  the  very  best 
of  hostesses. 

Thus  it  happened  that  except  at  the  seasons  when 
his  wife  retired  under  the  pressure  of  domestic  occur- 
rences, Morris  found  that  he  had  but  little  time  left  in 
which  to  be  quiet ;  that  his  life  in  short  was  no  longer 
the  life  of  a  worker,  but  that  of  the  commonplace  coun- 
try gentleman  of  wealth  and  fashion. 

Now  it  was  Mary  who  had  brought?  these  things 
about,  and  by  design;  for  she  was  not  a  woman  to  act 
without  reasons  and  an  object.  It  is  true  that  she  liked 
a  gay  and  pleasant  life,  for  gaiety  and  pleasure  were 
agreeable  to  her  easy  and  somewhat  indolent  mind,  also 
they  gave  her  opportunities  of  exercising  her  faculties 
of  observation,  which  were  considerable. 


278  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

But  Mary  was  far  fonder  of  her  husband  than  of  these 
and  other  vanities ;  indeed,  her  affection  for  him  shone 
the  guiding  star  of  her  existence.  From  her  childhood 
she  had  been  devoted  to  this  cousin,  who,  since  her 
earliest  days,  had  been  her  playmate,  and  at  heart  had 
wished  to  marry  him,  and  no  one  else.  Then  he  began 
his  experiments,  and  drifted  quite  away  from  her. 
Afterwards  things  changed,  and  they  became  engaged. 
Again  the  experiments  were  carried  on,  with  the  aid  of 
another  woman,  and  again  he  drifted  away  from  her ; 
also  the  drifting  in  this  instance  was  attended  by  serious 
and  painful  complications. 

Now  the  complications  had  ceased  to  exist;  they 
threatened  her  happiness  no  more.  Indeed,  had  they 
been  much  worse  than  they  were  she  would  have  over- 
looked them,  being  altogether  convinced  of  the  truth  of 
the  old  adage  which  points  out  the  folly  of  cutting  off 
one's  nose  to  spite  one's  face.  Whatever  his  failings  or 
shortcomings,  Morris  was  her  joy,  the  human  being  in 
whose  company  she  delighted ;  without  whom,  indeed, 
her  life  would  be  flat,  stale,  and  unprofitable.  The 
stronger  then  was  her  determination  that  he  should  not 
slip  back  into  his  former  courses ;  those  courses  which 
in  the  end  had  always  brought  about  estrangement  from 
herself. 

Inventions,  the  details  of  which  she  could  not  under- 
stand, meant,  as  she  knew  well,  long  days  and  weeks  of 
solitary  brooding ;  therefore,  inventions,  and,  indeed,  all 
unnecessary  work,  were  in  his  case  to  be  discouraged. 
Such  solitary  brooding  also  drew  from  the  mind  of 
Morris  a  vague  mist  of  thought  about  matters  esoteric 
which,  to  Mary's  belief,  had  the  properties  of  a  miasma 


MORRIS,   THE  MARRIED  MAN  279 

that  crept  like  poison  through  his  being.  She  wished 
for  no  more  star-gazing,  no  more  mysticism,  and,  above 
all,  no  more  memories  of  the  interloping  woman  who,  in 
his  company,  had  studied  its  doubtful  and  dangerous 
delights. 

Although  since  the  day  of  Morris's  confession  Mary 
had  never  even  mentioned  the  name  of  Stella  to  him, 
she  by  no  means  forgot  that  such  a  person  once  existed. 
Indeed,  carelessly  and  without  seeming  to  be  anxious  on 
the  subject,  she  informed  herself  about  her  down  to  the 
last  possible  detail ;  so  that  within  a  few  months  of  the 
death  of  Miss  Fregelius  she  knew,  as  she  thought, 
everything  that  could  be  known  of  her  life  at  Monks- 
land.  Moreover,  she  saw  three  different  pictures  of 
her :  one  a  somewhat  prim  photograph  which  Mr. 
Fregelius,  her  father,  possessed,  taken  when  she  was 
about  twenty;  another,  a  coloured  drawing  made  by 
Morris  —  who  was  rather  clever  at  catching  likenesses 
—  of  her  as  she  appeared  singing  in  the  chapel  on  the 
night  when  she  had  drawn  the  page-boy,  Thomas,  from 
his  slumbers ;  and  the  third,  also  a  photograph,  taken  by 
some  local  amateur,  of  her  and  Morris  standing  together 
on  the  beach  and  engaged  evidently  in  eager  discussion. 

From  these  three  pictures,  and  especially  from 
Morris's  sketch,  which  showed  the  spiritual  light  shining 
in  her  eyes,  and  her  face  rapt,  as  it  were,  in  a  very 
ecstasy  of  music,  Mary  was  able  to  fashion  with  some 
certainty  the  likeness  of  the  living  woman.  The  more 
she  studied  this  the  more  she  found  it  formidable, 
and  the  more  she  understood  how  it  came  about  that 
her  husband  had  fallen  into  folly.  Also,  she  learned  to 
understand  that  there  might  be  greater  weight  and 


280  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

meaning  in  his  confession  than  she  had  been  inclined 
to  allow  to  it  at  the  time ;  that,  at  any  rate,  its  extrava- 
gances ought  not  to  be  set  down  entirely,  as  her  father- 
in-law  had  suggested  with  such  extreme  cleverness,  to  the 
vagaries  of  a  mind  suffering  from  sudden  shock  and  alarm. 

All  these  conclusions  made  Mary  anxious,  by  wrap- 
ping her  husband  round  with  common  domestic  cares  and 
a  web  of  daily,  social  incident,  to  bury  the  memory  of  this 
Stella  beneath  ever-thickening  strata  of  forgetfulness  ; 
not  that  in  themselves  these  reminiscences,  however  hal- 
lowed, could  do  her  any  further  actual  harm ;  but  because 
the  train  of  thought  evoked  thereby  was,  as  she  conceived, 
morbid,  and  dangerous  to  the  balance  of  his  mind. 

The  plan  seemed  wise  and  good,  and,  in  the  case 
of  most  men,  probably  would  have  succeeded.  Yet  in 
Morris's  instance  from  the  commencement  it  was  a  fail- 
ure. She  had  begun  by  making  his  story  and  ideas,  ab- 
surd enough  on  the  face  of  them,  an  object  of  somewhat 
acute  sarcasm,  if  not  of  ridicule.  This  was  a  mistake, 
since  thereby  she  caused  him  to  suppress  every  outward 
evidence  of  them ;  to  lock  them  away  in  the  most  secret 
recesses  of  his  heart.  If  the  lid  of  a  caldron  full  of 
fluid  is  screwed  down  while  a  fire  continues  to  burn 
beneath  it,  the  steam  which  otherwise  would  have 
passed  away  harmlessly,  gathers  and  struggles  till  the 
moment  of  inevitable  catastrophe.  The  fact  that  for  a 
while  the  caldron  remains  inert  and  the  steam  invisible 
is  no  indication  of  safety.  To  attain  safety  in  such  a 
case  either  the  fire  must  be  raked  out  or  the  fluid 
tapped.  Mary  had  screwed  down  the  lid  of  her  domes- 
tic caldron,  but  the  flame  still  burned  beneath,  and  the 
water  still  boiled  within. 


MORRIS,   THE  MARRIED  MAN  28 1 

This  was  her  first  error,  and  the  second  proved  almost 
as  mischievous.  She  thought  to  divert  Morris  from  a 
central  idea  by  a  multitude  of  petty  counter-attractions  ; 
she  believed  that  by  stopping  him  from  the  scientific 
labours  and  esoteric  speculation  connected  with  this 
idea,  that  it  would  be  deadened  and  in  time  obliterated. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  by  thus  emptying  his  mind  of  its 
serious  and  accustomed  occupations,  Mary  made  room 
for  the  very  development  she  dreaded  to  flourish  like 
an  upas  tree.  For  although  he  breathed  no  word  of  it, 
although  he  showed  no  sign  of  it,  to  Morris  the  memory 
of  the  dead  was  a  constant  companion.  Time  heals 
all  things,  that  is  the  common  saying ;  but  would  it 
be  possible  to  formulate  any  fallacy  more  complete  ? 
There  are  many  wounds  that  time  does  not  heal,  and 
often  enough  against  the  dead  it  has  no  power  at  all  — 
for  how  can  time  compete  against  the  eternity  of  which 
they  have  become  a  part?  The  love  of  them  where 
they  have  been  truly  loved,  remains  quite  unaltered ; 
in  some  instances,  indeed,  it  is  endued  with  a  power  of 
terrible  and  amazing  growth. 

On  earth,  very  probably,  that  deep  affection  would 
have  become  subject  to  the  natural  influences  of 
weakening  and  decay;  and,  in  the  instance  of  a  man 
and  woman,  the  soul-possessing  passion  might  have 
passed,  to  be  replaced  by  a  more  moderate,  custom-worn 
affection.  But  the  dead  are  beyond  the  reach  of  those 
mouldering  fingers.  There  they  stand,  perfect  and  un- 
alterable, with  arms  which  never  cease  from  beckoning, 
with  a  smile  that  never  grows  less  sweet.  Come  storm, 
come  shine,  nothing  can  tarnish  the  pure  and  gleaming 
robes  in  which  our  vision  clothes  them.  We  know  the 


282  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

worst  of  them ;  their  faults  and  failings  cannot  vex  us 
afresh,  their  errors  are  all  forgiven.  It  is  their  best  part 
only  that  remains  unrealised  and  unread,  their  purest 
aspirations  which  we  follow  with  leaden  wings,  their 
deepest  thoughts  that  we  still  strive  to  plumb  with  the 
short  line  of  our  imagination  or  experience,  and  to  weigh 
in  our  imperfect  balances. 

Yes,  there  they  stand,  and  smile,  and  beckon,  while 
ever  more  radiant  grow  their  brows,  and  more  to  be  de- 
sired the  knowledge  of  their  perfected  majesty.  There  is 
no  human  passion  like  this  passion  for  the  dead ;  none  so 
awful,  none  so  holy,  none  so  changeless.  For  they  have 
become  eternal,  and  our  desire  for  them  is  sealed  with  the 
stamp  of  their  eternity,  and  strengthens  in  the  shadow 
of  its  wings  till  the  shadows  flee  away  and  we  pass  to 
greet  them  in  the  dawn  of  the  immortal  morning. 

Yes,  within  the  secret  breast  of  Morris  the  flame  of 
memory  still  burned,  and  still  seethed  those  bitter  waters 
of  desire  for  the  dead.  There  was  nothing  carnal  about 
this  desire,  since  the  passions  of  the  flesh  perish  with 
the  flesh.  Nor  was  there  anything  of  what  a  man  may 
feel  when  he  sees  the  woman  whom  he  loves  and  who 
loves  him,  forced  to  another  fate,  for  to  those  he  robs 
death  has  this  advantage  over  the  case  of  other  success- 
ful rivals:  his  embrace  purifies,  and  of  it  we  are  not  jeal- 
ous. The  longing  was  spiritual,  and  for  this  reason  it 
did  not  weaken,  but,  indeed,  became  a  part  of  him,  to 
grow  with  the  spirit  from  which  it  took  its  birth.  Still, 
had  it  not  been  for  a  chance  occurrence,  there,  in  the 
spirit,  it  might  have  remained  buried,  in  due  course  to 
pass  away  with  it  and  seek  its  expression  in  unknown 
conditions  and  regions  unexplored. 


MORRIS,   THE  MARRIED  MAN  283 

In  a  certain  fashion  Morris  was  happy  enough.  He 
was  very  fond  of  his  wife,  and  he  adored  his  little  chil- 
dren as  men  of  tender  nature  do  adore  those  that  are 
helpless,  and  for  whose  existence  they  are  responsible. 
He  appreciated  his  public  reputation,  his  wealth,  and  the 
luxury  that  lapped  him  round,  and  above  all  he  was  glad 
to  have  been  the  means  of  restoring,  and,  indeed,  of 
advancing  the  fortunes  of  his  family. 

Moreover,  as  has  been  said,  above  all  things  he  desired 
to  please  Mary,  the  lovely,  amiable  woman  who  had  com- 
plimented him  with  her  unvarying  affection ;  and  —  when 
he  went  astray — who,  with  scarcely  a  reproach,  had  led 
him  back  into  its  gentle  fold.  Least  of  all,  therefore, 
was  it  his  will  to  flaunt  before  her  eyes  the  spectre  from 
a  past  which  she  wished  to  forget,  or  even  to  let  her  guess 
that  such  a  past  still  permeated  his  present.  There- 
fore, on  this  subject  settled  the  silence  of  the  dead,  till 
at  length  Mary,  observant  as  she  was,  became  well-nigh 
convinced  that  Stella  Fregelius  was  forgotten,  and  that 
her  fantastic  promises  were  disproved.  Yet  no  mistake 
could  have  been  more  profound. 

It  was  Morris's  habit,  whenever  he  could  secure  an 
evening  to  himself,  which  was  not  very  often,  to  walk 
to  the  Rectory  and  smoke  his  pipe  in  the  company  of  Mr. 
Fregelius.  Had  Mary  chanced  to  be  invisibly  present, 
or  to  peruse  a  stenographic  report  of  what  passed 
at  one  of  these  evening  calls  —  whereof,  for  reasons 
which  she  suppressed,  she  did  not  entirely  approve  — 
she  might  have  found  sufficient  cause  to  vary  her  opinion. 
On  these  occasions  ostensibly  Morris  went  to  talk  about 
parish  affairs,  and,  indeed,  to  a  certain  extent  he  did 
talk  about  them.  For  instance,  Stella  who  had  been  so 


284  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

fond  of  music,  once  described  to  him  the  organ  which 
she  would  like  to  place  in  the  fine  old  parish  church  of 
Monksland.  Now  that  renovated  instrument  stood 
there,  and  was  the  admiration  of  the  country-side,  as  it 
well  might  be  in  view  of  the  fact  that  it  had  cost  over 
four  thousand  pounds. 

Again,  Mr.  Fregelius  wished  to  erect  a  monument  to 
his  daughter,  which,  as  her  body  never  had  been  found, 
could  properly  be  placed  in  the  chancel  of  the  church. 
Morris  entered  heartily  into  the  idea  and  undertook  to 
spend  the  hundred  pounds  which  the  old  gentleman  had 
saved  for  this  purpose  on  his  account  and  to  the  best  ad- 
vantage. In  effect  he  did  spend  it  to  excellent  advantage, 
as  Mr.  Fregelius  admitted  when  the  monument  arrived. 

It  was  a  lovely  thing,  executed  by  one  of  the  first 
sculptors  of  the  day,  in  white  marble  upon  a  black  stone 
bed,  and  represented  the  mortal  shape  of  Stella.  There 
she  lay  to  the  very  life,  wrapped  in  a  white  robe,  por- 
trayed as  a  sleeper  awakening  from  the  last  sleep  of 
death,  her  eyes  wide  and  wondering,  and  on  her  face 
that  rapt  look  which  Morris  had  caught  in  his  sketch 
of  her,  singing  in  the  chapel.  At  the  edge  of  the  base 
of  this  remarkable  effigy,  set  flush  on  the  black  marble  in 
letters  of  plain  copper  was  her  name  —  Stella  Fregelius  — 
with  the  date  of  her  death.  On  one  side  appeared  the 
text  that  she  had  quoted,  "  O  death,  where  is  thy  sting?" 
on  the  other  its  continuation,  "  O  grave,  where  is  thy 
victory  ? "  and  at  the  foot  part  of  a  verse  from  the 
forty-second  psalm  :  "  Deep  calleth  unto  deep.  ...  All 
Thy  waves  and  storms  have  gone  over  me." 

Like  the  organ,  this  monument,  which  stood  in  the 
chancel,  was  much  admired  by  everybody,  except  Mary, 


MORRIS,   THE  MARRIED  MAN  285 

who  found  it  rather  theatrical ;  and,  indeed,  when  nobody 
was  looking,  surveyed  it  with  a  gloomy  and  a  doubtful  eye. 

That  Morris  had  something  to  do  with  the  thing  she 
was  quite  certain,  since  she  knew  well  that  Mr.  Fregelius 
would  never  have  invented  any  memorial  so  beautiful 
and  full  of  symbolism ;  also  she  doubted  his  ability  to 
pay  for  a  piece  of  statuary  which  must  have  cost  many 
hundreds  of  pounds.  A  third  reason,  which  seemed  to 
her  conclusive,  was  that  the  face  on  the  statue  was  the 
very  face  of  Morris's  drawing,  although,  of  course,  it  was 
possible  that  Mr.  Fregelius  might  have  borrowed  the 
sketch  for  the  use  of  the  sculptor.  But  of  all  this, 
although  it  disturbed  her,  occurring  as  it  did  just  when  she 
hoped  that  Stella  was  beginning  to  be  forgotten,  she  spoke 
not  a  word  to  Morris.  "  Least  said,  soonest  mended,"  is 
a  good  if  a  homely  motto,  or  so  thought  Mary. 

The  monument  had  been  in  place  a  year,  but  whenever 
he  was  at  home  Morris's  visits  to  Mr.  Fregelius  did  not 
grow  fewer.  Indeed,  his  wife  noticed  that,  if  anything, 
they  increased  in  number,  which,  as  the  organ  was  now 
finished  down  to  the  last  allegorical  carvings  of  its  case, 
seemed  remarkable  and  unnecessary.  Of  course,  the  fact 
was  that  on  these  occasions  the  conversation  invariably 
centred  on  one  subject,  and  that  subject,  Stella.  Con- 
sidered in  certain  aspects,  it  must  have  been  a  piteous 
thing  to  see  and  hear  these  two  men,  each  of  them 
bereaved  of  one  who  to  them  above  all  others  had  been 
the  nearest  and  dearest,  trying  to  assuage  their  grief  by 
mutual  consolations.  Morris  had  never  told  Mr.  Frege- 
lius  all  the  depth  of  his  attachment  to  his  daughter,  at 
least,  not  in  actual,  unmistakable  words,  although,  as  has 
been  said,  from  the  first  her  father  took  it  for  granted,  and 


286  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

Morris,  tacitly  at  any  rate,  had  accepted  the  conclusion. 
Indeed,  very  soon  he  found  that  no  other  subject  had 
such  charms  for  his  guest ;  that  of  Stella  he  might  talk 
for  ever  without  the  least  fear  that  Morris  would  be  weary. 

So  the  poor,  childless,  unfriended  old  man  put  aside 
the  reserve  and  timidity  which  clothed  him  like  a  garment, 
and  talked  on  into  those  sympathetic  ears,  knowing  well, 
however  —  for  the  freemasonry  of  their  common  love 
taught  it  to  him  —  that  in  the  presence  of  a  third  person 
her  name,  no  allusion  to  her,  even,  must  pass  his  lips. 
In  short,  these  conversations  grew  at  length  into  a  kind 
of  stance  or  solemn  rite ;  a  joint  offering  to  the  dead  of 
the  best  that  they  had  to  give,  their  tenderest  thoughts 
and  memories,  made  in  solemn  secrecy  and  with  uplifted 
hearts  and  minds. 

Mr.  Fregelius  was  an  historian,  and  possessed  some 
interesting  records,  upon  which  it  was  his  habit  to  des- 
cant. Amongst  other  things  he  instructed  Morris  in 
the  annals  of  Stella's  ancestry  upon  both  sides,  which, 
as  it  happened,  could  be  traced  back  for  many  genera- 
tions. In  these  discourses  it  grew  plain  to  his  listener 
whence  had  sprung  certain  of  her  qualities,  such  as  her 
fearless  attitude  towards  death,  and  her  tendency  towards 
mysticism.  Here  in  these  musty  chronicles,  far  back  in 
the  times  when  those  of  whom  they  kept  record  were 
half,  if  not  wholly,  heathen,  these  same  qualities  could  be 
discovered  among  her  forbears. 

Indeed,  there  was  one  woman  of  whom  the  saga  told, 
a  certain  ancestress  named  Ssevuna,  whereof  it  is  written 
"  that  she  was  of  all  women  the  very  fairest,  and  that 
she  drew  the  hearts  of  men  with  her  wonderful  eyes  as 
the  moon  draws  mists  from  a  marsh,"  who,  in  some  ways, 


MORRIS,   THE  MARRIED  MAN  287 

might  have  been  Stella  herself,  Stella  unchristianized 
and  savage. 

This  Saevuna's  husband  rebelled  against  the  king  of 
his  country,  and,  being  captured,  was  doomed  to  a  shame- 
ful death  by  hanging  as  a  traitor.  Thereon,  under  pre- 
tence of  bidding  him  farewell,  she  administered  poison 
to  him,  partaking  of  the  same  herself ;  "  and,"  continues 
the  saga,  "  they  both  of  them,  until  their  pains  overcame 
them,  died  singing  a  certain  ancient  song  which  had 
descended  in  the  family  of  one  of  them,  and  is  called  the 
Song  of  the  Over-Lord,  or  the  Offering  to  Death.  This 
song,  while  strength  and  voice  remain  to  them,  it  is  the 
duty  of  this  family  to  say  or  sing,  or  so  they  hold  it,  in 
the  hour  of  their  death.  But  if  they  sing  it,  except  by 
way  of  learning  its  words  and  music  from  their  mothers, 
and  escape  death,  it  will  not  be  for  very  long,  seeing 
that  when  once  the  offering  is  laid  upon  his  altar,  the 
Over-Lord  considers  it  his  own,  and,  after  the  fashion  of 
gods  and  men,  takes  it  as  soon  as  he  can.  So  sweet  and 
strange  was  the  singing  of  this  Saevuna  until  she  choked 
that  the  king  and  his  nobles  came  out  to  hear  it,  and  all 
men  thought  it  a  great  marvel  that  a  woman  should  sing 
thus  in  the  very  pains  of  death.  Moreover,  they  declared, 
many  of  them,  that  while  the  song  went  on  they  could 
think  of  nothing  else,  and  that  strange  and  wonderful 
visions  passed  before  their  eyes.  But  of  this  nobody 
can  know  the  truth  for  certain,  as  the  woman  and  her 
husband  died  long  ago." 

"  You  see,"  said  Mr.  Fregelius,  when  he  had  finished 
translating  the  passage  aloud,  "it  is  not  wonderful  that 
I  thought  it  unlucky  when  I  heard  that  you  had  found 
Stella  singing  this  same  song  upon  the  ship,  much  as 


288  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

centuries  ago  her  ancestress,  Saevuna,  sang  it  while  she 
and  her  husband  died." 

"At  any  rate,  the  omen  fulfilled  itself,"  answered 
Morris,  with  a  sigh,  "  and  she,  too,  died  with  the  song 
upon  her  lips,  though  I  do  not  think  that  it  had  anything 
to  do  with  these  things,  which  were  fated  to  befall." 

"Well,"  said  the  clergyman,  "the  fate  is  fulfilled  now, 
and  the  song  will  never  be  sung  again.  She  was  the  last 
of  her  race,  and  it  was  a  law  among  them  that  neither 
words  nor  music  should  ever  be  written  down." 

When  such  old  tales  and  legends  were  exhausted,  and, 
outside  the  immediate  object  of  their  search,  some  of 
them  were  of  great  interest  to  a  man  who,  like  Morris, 
had  knowledge  of  Norse  literature,  and  was  delighted 
to  discover  in  Mr.  Fregelius  a  scholar  acquainted  with 
the  original  tongues  in  which  they  were  written,  these 
companions  fell  back  upon  other  matters.  But  all  of 
them  had  to  do  with  Stella.  One  night  the  clergyman 
read  some  letters  written  by  her  as  a  child  from  Den- 
mark. On  another  he  produced  certain  dolls  which  she 
had  dressed  at  the  same  period  of  her  life  in  the  costume 
of  the  peasants  of  that  country.  On  a  third  he  repeated 
a  piece  of  rather  indifferent  poetry  composed  by  her 
when  she  was  a  girl  of  sixteen.  Its  strange  title  was, 
"The  Resurrection  of  Dead  Roses."  It  told  how  in 
its  author's  fancy  the  flowers  which  were  cut  and  cast 
away  on  earth  bloomed  again  in  heaven,  never  to  wither 
more ;  a  pretty  allegory,  but  treated  in  a  childish  fashion. 

Thus,  then,  from  time  to  time,  as  occasion  offered,  did 
this  strange  pair  celebrate  the  rites  they  thought  so 
harmless,  and  upon  the  altar  of  memory  make  offerings 
to  their  dead. 


CHAPTER   XX 
STELLA'S   DIARY 

IT  seems  to  be  a  law  of  life  that  nothing  in  nature 
can  stand  completely  still  and  changeless.  All  must 
vary,  must  progress  or  retrograde;  the  very  rocks  in 
the  bowels  of  the  earth  undergo  organic  alterations, 
while  the  eternal  hills  that  cover  them  increase  or  are 
worn  away.  Much  more  is  this  obvious  in  the  case  of 
ephemeral  man,  of  his  thoughts,  his  works,  and  every- 
thing wherewith  he  has  to  do,  he  who  within  the  period 
of  a  few  short  years  is  doomed  to  appear,  wax,  wane, 
and  vanish. 

Even  the  conversations  of  Mr.  Fregelius  and  Morris 
were  subject  to  the  working  of  this  universal  rule  ;  and 
in  obedience  to  it  must  travel  towards  a  climax,  either 
of  fruition,  however  unexpected,  or,  their  purpose 
served,  whatever  it  may  have  been,  to  decay  and  death, 
for  lack  of  food  upon  which  to  live  and  flourish.  The 
tiniest  groups  of  impulses  or  incidents  have  their  goal 
as  sure  and  as  appointed  as  that  of  the  cluster  of  vast 
globes  which  form  a  constellation.  Between  them  the 
principal  distinction  seems  to  be  one  of  size,  and  at 
present  we  are  not  in  a  position  to  say  which  may  be 
the  most  important,  the  issue  of  the  smallest  of  unre- 
corded causes,  or  of  the  travailing  of  the  great  worlds. 
The  destiny  of  a  single  human  soul  shaped  or  directed 

289 


2QO  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

by  the  one,  for  aught  we  know,  may  be  of  more  weight 
and  value  than  that  of  a  multitude  of  hoary  universes 
naked  of  life  and  spirit.  Or  perhaps  to  the  Eye  that 
sees  and  judges  the  difference  is  nothing. 

Thus  even  these  semi-secret  interviews  when  two  men 
met  to  talk  over  the  details  of  a  lost  life  with  which, 
however  profoundly  it  may  have  influenced  them  in  the 
past,  they  appeared,  so  far  as  this  world  is  concerned,  to 
have  nothing  more  to  do,  were  destined  to  affect  the 
future  of  one  of  them  in  a  fashion  that  could  scarcely 
have  been  foreseen.  This  became  apparent,  or  put  it- 
self in  the  way  of  becoming  apparent,  when  on  a  cer- 
tain evening  Morris  found  Mr.  Fregelius  seated  in  the 
rectory  dining-room,  and  by  his  side  a  little  pile  of  manu- 
script volumes  bound  in  shabby  cloth. 

"  What  are  those  ? "  asked  Morris.  "  Her  translation 
of  the  Saga  of  the  Cave  Outlaws  ?  " 

"  No,  Morris,"  answered  Mr.  Fregelius  —  he  called 
him  Morris  when  they  were  alone  — "  of  course  not. 
Don't  you  remember  that  they  were  bound  in  red  ? "  he 
added  reproachfully,  "  and  that  we  did  them  up  to  send 
to  the  publisher  last  week  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  of  course ;  he  wrote  to  me  yesterday  to 
say  that  he  would  be  glad  to  bring  out  the  book " 
—  Morris  did  not  add,  "at  my  risk."  —  "  But  what  are 
they  ? " 

"They  are,"  replied  Mr.  Fregelius,  "her  journals, 
which  she  appears  to  have  kept  ever  since  she  was 
fourteen  years  of  age.  You  remember  she  was  going  to 
London  on  the  day  that  she  was  drowned  — that  Christ- 
mas Day  ?  Well,  before  she  went  out  to  the  old  church 
she  packed  her  belongings  in  two  boxes,  and  there  those 


STELLAS  DIARY  29 1 

boxes  have  lain  for  three  years  and  more,  because  I 
could  never  find  the  heart  to  meddle  with  them.  But, 
a  few  nights  ago  I  wasn't  able  to  sleep  —  I  rest  very 
badly  now  —  so  I  went  and  undid  them,  lifting  out  all 
the  things  which  her  hands  put  there.  At  the  bottom 
of  one  of  the  boxes  I  found  these  volumes,  except  the 
last  of  them,  in  which  she  was  writing  till  the  day  of  her 
death.  That  was  at  the  top.  I  was  aware  that  she 
kept  a  diary,  for  I  have  seen  her  making  the  entries ;  but 
of  its  contents  I  knew  nothing.  In  fact,  until  last  night 
I  had  forgotten  its  existence." 

"  Have  you  read  it  now  ? "  asked  Morris. 

"  I  have  looked  into  it ;  it  seems  to  be  a  history  of  her 
thoughts  and  theories.  Facts  are  very  briefly  noted. 
It  occurred  to  me  that  you  might  like  to  read  it.  Why 
not?" 

"Yes,  yes,  very  much,"  answered  Morris  eagerly. 
"  That  is,  if  you  think  she  will  not  mind.  You  see,  it 
is  private." 

Mr.  Fregelius  took  no  notice  of  the  tense  of  which 
Morris  made  use,  for  the  reason  that  it  seemed  natural 
to  him  that  he  should  employ  it.  Their  strange  habit 
was  to  talk  of  Stella,  not  as  we  speak  of  one  dead,  but 
as  a  living  individuality  with  whom  they  chanced  for  a 
while  to  be  unable  to  communicate. 

"  I  do  not  think  that  she  will  mind,"  he  answered 
slowly ;  "  quite  the  reverse,  indeed.  It  is  a  record  of  a 
phase  and  period  of  her  existence  which,  I  believe,  she 
might  wish  those  who  are — interested  in  her — to  study, 
especially  as  she  had  no  secrets  that  she  could  desire  to 
conceal.  From  first  to  last  I  believe  her  life  to  have 
been  as  clear  as  the  sky,  and  as  pure  as  running  water." 


292  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

"Very  well,"  answered  Morris,  "if  I  come  across  any 
passage  that  I  think  I  ought  not  to  read,  I  will  skip." 

"  I  can  find  nothing  of  the  sort,  or  I  would  not  give  it 
to  you,"  said  Mr.  Fregelius.  "  But,  of  course,  I  have 
not  read  the  volumes  through  as  yet.  There  has  been 
no  time  for  that.  I  have  sampled  them  here  and  there, 
that  is  all." 

That  night  Morris  took  those  shabby  note-books  home 
with  him.  Mary,  who  according  to  her  custom  went 
to  bed  early,  being  by  this  time  fast  asleep,  he  retired  to 
his  laboratory  in  the  old  chapel,  where  it  was  his  habit  to 
sit,  especially  when,  as  at  the  present  time,  his  father 
was  away  from  home.  Here,  without  wasting  a  moment, 
he  began  his  study  of  them. 

It  was  with  very  strange  sensations,  such  as  he  had 
never  before  experienced,  that  he  opened  the  first  of 
the  volumes,  written  some  thirteen  years  earlier,  that 
is,  about  ten  years  before  Stella's  death.  Their  actual 
acquaintance  had  been  but  brief.  Now  he  was  about  to 
complete  his  knowledge  of  her,  to  learn  many  things 
which  he  had  found  no  time,  or  had  forgotten  to  inquire 
into,  to  discover  the  explanation  of  various  phases  of 
her  character  hitherto  but  half  revealed;  perhaps  to  trace 
to  its  source  the  energy  of  that  real,  but  mystic,  faith 
with  which  it  was  informed.  This  diary  that  had  come 
—  or  perhaps  been  sent  to  him  —  in  so  unexpected  a 
fashion,  was  the  key  whereby  he  hoped  to  open  the 
most  hidden  chambers  of  the  heart  of  the  woman  whom 
he  loved,  and  who  loved  him  with  all  her  strength  and 
soul. 

Little  wonder,  then,  that  he  trembled  upon  the  thresh- 


STELLA'S  DIARY  293 

old  of  such  a  search.  He  was  like  the  neophyte  of 
some  veiled  religion,  who,  after  long  years  of  arduous 
labour  and  painful  preparation,  is  at  length  conducted 
to  the  doors  of  its  holy  of  holies,  and  left  to  enter  there 
alone.  What  will  he  find  beyond  them  ?  The  secret  he 
longed  to  learn,  the  seal  and  confirmation  of  his  hard- 
won  faith,  or  empty,  baulking  nothingness  ?  Would  the 
goddess  herself,  the  unveiled  Isis,  wait  to  bless  her  votary 
within  those  doors  ?  Or  would  that  hall  be  tenanted  but 
by  a  painted  and  bedizened  idol,  a  thing  fine  with  ivory 
and  gold,  but  dead  and  soulless  ? 

Might  it  not  be  better  indeed  to  turn  back  while  there 
was  yet  time,  to  be  content  to  dwell  on  in  the  wide 
outer  courts  of  the  imagination,  where  faith  is  always 
possible,  rather  than  to  hazard  all  ?  No ;  it  would,  Morris 
felt,  be  best  to  learn  the  whole  truth,  especially  as  he 
was  sure  that  it  could  not  prove  other  than  satisfying 
and  beautiful.  Blind  must  he  have  been  indeed,  and 
utterly  without  intuition  if  with  every  veil  that  was  with- 
drawn from  it  the  soul  of  Stella  did  not  shine  more  bright. 

Another  question  remained.  Was  it  well  that  he 
should  read  these  diaries  ?  Was  not  his  mind  already 
full  enough  of  Stella  ?  If  once  he  began  to  read,  might 
it  not  be  overladen  ?  In  short,  Mary  had  dealt  well  by 
him  ;  when  those  books  were  open  in  his  hand,  would  he 
be  dealing  well  by  Mary?  Answers — excellent  answers 
—  to  these  queries  sprang  up  in  his  mind  by  dozens. 

Stella  was  dead.  "  But  you  are  sworn  to  her  in  death," 
commented  the  voice  of  Conscience.  "  Would  you  rob 
the  living  of  your  allegiance  before  the  time  ? " 

There  was  no  possible  harm  in  reading  the  records  of 
the  life  and  thoughts  of  a  friend,  or  even  of  a  love  de- 


294  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

parted.  "Yet,"  suggested  the  voice  of  Conscience, 
"  are  you  so  sure  that  this  life  is  departed  ?  Have  you 
not  at  whiles  felt  its  presence,  that  mysterious  presence 
of  the  dead,  so  sweet,  so  heavy,  and  so  unmistakable,  with 
which  at  some  time  or  other  in  their  lives  many  have 
made  acquaintance  ?  Will  not  the  study  of  this  life 
cause  that  life  to  draw  near?  the  absorption  of  those 
thoughts  bring  about  the  visits  of  other  and  greater 
thoughts,  whereof  they  may  have  been,  as  it  were,  the 
seed  ? " 

Anyone  who  knew  its  author  would  be  interested  to 
read  this  human  document,  the  product  of  an  intelli- 
gence singularly  bright  and  clear;  of  a  vision  whose 
point  of  outlook  was  one  of  the  highest  and  most  spirit- 
ual peaks  in  the  range  of  our  human  imaginings.  "  Quite 
so,"  agreed  the  voice  of  Conscience.  "  For  instance, 
Mary  would  be  delighted.  Why  not  begin  with  her? 
In  fact,  why  not  pursue  these  pages  together — it  would 
lead  to  some  most  interesting  arguments  ?  Why  pore 
over  them  in  this  selfish  manner  all  alone  and  at  the 
dead  of  night  when  no  one  can  possibly  disturb  you,  or, 
since  you  have  blocked  the  hagioscope,  even  see  you  ? 
And  why  does  the  door  of  that  safe  stand  open  ?  Be- 
cause of  the  risk  of  fire  if  anyone  should  chance  to 
come  in  with  a  candle,  I  suppose.  No,  of  course  it 
would  not  be  right  to  leave  such  books  about ;  espe- 
cially as  they  do  not  belong  to  you." 

Then  enraged,  or  at  least  seriously  irritated,  by  these 
impertinent  comments  of  his  inner  self  upon  himself, 
Morris  bade  Conscience  to  be  gone  to  its  own  place. 
Next,  after  contemplating  it  for  a  while  as  Eve  might 
have  contemplated  the  apple,  unmindful  of  a  certain 


STELLAS  DIARY  29$ 

petition  in  the  Lord's  Prayer,  he  took  up  the  volume 
marked  I,  and  began  to  read  the  well-remembered  hand- 
writing with  its  quaint  mediaeval-looking  contractions. 
Even  at  the  age  when  its  author  had  opened  her  diary, 
he  noted  that  this  writing  was  so  tiny  and  neat  that 
many  of  the  pages  might  have  been  taken  from  a  monk- 
ish missal.  Also  there  were  few  corrections ;  what  she 
set  down  was  already  determined  in  her  mind. 

From  that  time  forward  Morris  sat  up  later  even  than 
usual,  nor  did  he  waste  those  precious  solitary  hours. 
But  the  diary  covered  ten  full  years  of  a  woman's  life, 
during  all  of  which  time  certainly  never  a  week  passed 
without  her  making  entries  in  it,  some  of  them  of  con- 
siderable length.  Thus  it  came  about — for  he  skipped 
no  word  —  that  a  full  month  had  gone  by  before  Morris 
closed  the  last  volume  and  slipped  it  away  into  its  hiding- 
place  in  the  safe. 

As  Mr.  Fregelius  had  said,  the  history  was  a  history  of 
thoughts  and  theories,  rather  than  of  facts,  but  notwith- 
standing this,  perhaps  on  account  of  it,  indeed,  it  was 
certainly  a  work  which  would  have  struck  the  severest 
and  least  interested  critic  as  very  remarkable.  The  pre- 
vailing note  was  that  of  vividness.  What  the  writer 
had  felt,  what  she  had  imagined,  what  she  had  desired, 
was  all  set  out,  frequently  in  but  few  words,  with  such 
crystal  clearness,  such  incisive  point,  that  it  came  home 
to  the  reader's  thought  as  a  flash  of  sudden  light  might 
come  home  to  his  eye.  In  a  pre-eminent  degree  Stella 
possessed  the  gift  of  expression.  Even  her  most  ab- 
struse self-communings  and  speculations  were  portrayed 
so  sharply  that  their  meaning  could  not  possibly  be 
mistaken.  This  it  was  that  gave  the  book  much  of  its 


296  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

value.  Her  thoughts  were  not  vague,  she  could  define 
them  in  her  own  consciousness,  and,  what  is  more  rare, 
on  paper. 

So  much  for  the  form  of  the  journal,  its  matter  is  not 
so  easy  to  describe.  At  first,  as  might  be  expected  from 
her  years,  it  was  somewhat  childish  in  character,  but 
not  on  that  account  the  less  sweet  and  fragrant  of  a 
child's  pure  heart.  Here  with  stern  accuracy  were 
recorded  her  little  faults  of  omission  and  commission  • — 
how  she  had  answered  crossly ;  how  she  had  not  done 
her  duty;  varied  occasionally  with  short  poems,  some 
copied,  some  of  her  own  composition,  and  prayers  also 
of  her  making,  one  or  two  of  them  very  touching  and 
beautiful.  From  time  to  time,  too  —  indeed  this  habit 
clung  to  her  to  the  last —  she  introduced  into  her  diary 
descriptions  of  scenery,  generally  short  and  detached, 
but  set  there  evidently  because  she  wished  to  preserve  a 
sketch  in  words  of  some  sight  that  had  moved  her  mind. 

Here  is  a  brief  example  describing  a  scene  in  Norway, 
where  she  was  visiting,  as  it  appeared  to  her  upon  some 
evening  in  late  autumn :  "  This  afternoon  I  went  out  to 
gather  cranberries  on  the  edge  of  the  fir-belt  below  the 
Stead.  Beneath  me  stretched  the  great  moss-swamp,  so 
wide  that  I  could  not  discern  its  borders,  and  grey  as 
the  sea  in  winter.  The  wind  blew  and  in  the  west  the 
sun  was  setting,  a  big,  red  sun  which  glowed  like  the 
copper-covered  cathedral  dome  that  we  saw  last  week. 
All  about  in  the  moss  stood  pools  of  black,  stagnant 
water  with  little  straggling  bushes  growing  round  them. 
Under  the  clouds  they  were  ink,  but  in  the  path  of  the 
red  light,  there  they  were  blood.  A  man  with  a  large 
basket  on  his  back  and  a  long  staff  in  his  hand,  was 


STELLAS  DIARY  297 

walking  across  the  moss  from  west  to  east.  The  wind 
tossed  his  cloak  and  bent  his  grey  beard  as  he  threaded 
his  way  among  the  pools.  The  red  light  fell  upon  him 
also,  and  he  looked  as  though  he  were  on  fire.  Before 
him,  gathering  thicker  as  the  sun  sank,  were  shadows 
and  blackness.  He  seemed  to  walk  into  the  blackness 
like  a  man  wading  into  the  sea.  It  swallowed  him  up ; 
he  must  have  felt  very  lonely  with  no  one  near  him  in 
that  immense  grey  place.  Now  he  was  all  gone,  except 
his  head  that  wore  a  halo  of  the  red  light.  He  looked 
like  a  saint  struggling  across  the  world  into  the  Black 
Gates.  For  a  minute  he  stood  still,  as  though  he  were 
frightened.  Then  a  sudden  gust  seemed  to  sweep  him 
on  again,  right  into  the  Gates,  and  I  lost  sight  of  that 
man  whom  I  shall  never  see  any  more.  I  wonder 
whether  he  was  a  saint  or  a  sinner,  and  what  he  will 
find  beyond  the  Gates.  A  curlew  flew  past  me,  borne 
out  of  the  darkness,  and  its  cry  made  me  feel  sad  and 
shiver.  It  might  have  been  the  man's  soul  which  wished 
to  look  upon  the  light  again.  Then  the  sun  sank,  and 
there  was  no  light,  only  the  wind  moaning,  and  far,  far 
away  the  sad  cry  of  the  curlew." 

This  description  was  simple  and  unpolished  as  it  was 
short.  Yet  it  impressed  the  mind  of  Morris,  and  its 
curious  allegorical  note  appealed  to  his  imagination. 
The  grey  moss  broken  by  stagnant  pools,  lonesome  and 
primeval ;  the  dreary  pipe  of  the  wildfowl,  the  red  and 
angry  sun  fronting  the  gloom  of  advancing,  oblivious 
night;  the  solitary  traveller,  wind-buffeted,  way-worn, 
aged,  heavy-laden,  fulfilling  the  last  stage  of  his  ap- 
pointed journey  to  a  realm  of  sleep  and  shadow.  All 
these  sprang  into  vision  as  he  read,  till  the  landscape, 


298  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

concentrated,  and  expressing  itself  in  its  tiny  central 
point  of  human  interest,  grew  more  real  in  memory  and 
meaning  than  many  with  which  he  was  himself  familiar. 

Yet  that  description  was  written  by  an  untrained  girl 
not  yet  seventeen  years  of  age.  But  with  such  from  first 
to  last,  and  this  was  by  no  means  the  best  of  them,  he 
found  her  pages  studded. 

Then,  jotted  down  from  day  to  day,  came  the  account 
of  the  illness  and  death  of  her  twin  sister,  Gudrun,  a 
pitiful  tale  to  read.  Hopes,  prayers,  agonies  of  despair, 
all  were  here  recorded ;  the  last  scene  also  was  set  out 
with  a  plain  and  noble  dignity,  written  by  the  bed  of 
death  in  the  presence  of  death.  Now  under  the  hand 
of  suffering  the  child  had  become  a  woman,  and,  as 
was  fitting,  her  full  soul  found  relief  in  deeper  notes. 
"Good-bye,  Gudrun,"  she  ended,  "my  heart  is  broken; 
but  I  will  mourn  for  you  no  more.  God  has  called  you, 
and  we  give  you  back  to  God.  Wait  for  me,  my  sister, 
for  I  am  coming  also,  and  I  will  not  linger.  I  will 
walk  quickly." 

It  was  from  this  sad  day  of  her  only  sister's  death 
that  the  first  real  developments  of  the  mystical  side  of 
Stella's  character  must  be  dated.  The  sudden  vanishing 
of  Gudrun  in  the  bloom  of  youth  and  beauty  brought 
home  to  her  the  lesson  which  all  must  learn,  in  such 
a  fashion  that  henceforth  her  whole  soul  was  tinged  to 
its  sad  hue. 

"  Now  I  understand  it  all,"  she  wrote  after  returning 
from  the  funeral.  "We  do  not  live  to  die,  we  die  to 
live.  As  a  grain  of  sand  to  the  whole  shore,  as  a  drop 
of  water  to  the  whole  sea,  so  is  what  we  call  our  life  to 
the  real  life.  Of  course  one  has  always  been  taught 


STELLAS  DIARY  299 

that  in  church,  but  I  never  really  comprehended  it  be- 
fore. Henceforth  this  thought  shall  be  a  part  of  me ! 
Every  morning  when  I  wake  I  will  remember  that  I  am 
one  night  nearer  to  the  great  dawn,  every  night  when  I 
lie  down  to  sleep  I  will  thank  God  that  another  day  of 
waiting  has  ended  with  the  sunset.  Yes,  and  I  will  try 
to  live  so  that  after  my  last  sunset  I  may  meet  the  end 
as  did  Gudrun  ;  without  a  single  doubt  or  fear,  for  if 
I  have  nothing  to  reproach  myself  with,  why  should  I 
be  reproached  ?  If  I  have  longed  for  light  and  lived 
towards  the  light,  however  imperfect  I  may  be,  why 
should  I  be  allotted  to  the  darkness  ? " 

Almost  on  the  next  page  appeared  a  prayer  "  For  the 
welfare  and  greater  glory  "  of  her  who  was  dead,  and 
for  the  mourner  who  was  left  alive,  with  this  quaint 
note  appended  :  "  My  father  would  not  approve  of  this, 
as  it  is  against  the  rubric,  but  all  the  same  I  mean  to  go 
on  praying  for  the  dead.  Why  should  I  not  ?  If  my 
poor  petitions  cannot  help  them  who  are  above  the  need 
of  help,  at  least  they  may  show  that  they  are  not  for- 
gotten. Oh !  that  must  be  the  bitter  part ;  to  live  on 
full  of  love  and  memory  and  watch  forgetfulness  creep- 
ing into  the  hearts  of  the  loved  and  the  remembered. 
The  priests  never  thought  of  it,  but  there  lies  the  real 
purgatory." 

The  diary  showed  it  to  be  a  little  more  than  a  year 
after  this  that  spiritual  doubts  began  to  possess  the  soul 
of  Stella.  After  all,  was  she  not  mistaken  ?  Was  there 
any  world  beyond  the  physical  ?  Were  we  not  mere  ac- 
cidents, born  of  the  will  or  the  chance  of  the  flesh,  and 
shaped  by  the  pressure  of  centuries  of  circumstance  ? 
Were  not  all  religions  different  forms  of  a  gigantic  fraud 


300  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

played  by  his  own  imagination  upon  blind,  believing 
man  ?  And  so  on  to  the  end  of  the  long  list  of  those 
questions  that  are  as  old  as  thought. 

"  I  look,"  she  wrote  under  the  influence  of  this  mood, 
"but  everywhere  is  blackness;  blackness  without  a  single 
star.  I  cry  aloud,  but  the  only  answer  is  the  echo  of  my 
own  voice  beating  back  upon  me  from  the  deaf  heavens. 
I  pray  for  faith,  yet  faith  fades  and  leaves  me.  I  ask 
for  signs,  and  there  is  no  sign.  The  argument  ?  So  far 
as  I  have  read  and  heard,  it  seems  the  other  way.  And 
yet  I  do  not  believe  their  proofs.  I  do  not  believe  that 
so  many  generations  of  good  men  would  have  fed  full 
upon  a  husk  of  lies  and  have  lain  down  to  sleep  at 
last  as  though  satisfied  with  meat.  My  heart  rises  at  the 
thought.  I  am  immortal.  I  know  that  I  am  immortal. 
I  am  a  spirit.  In  days  to  come,  unchained  by  matter, 
time,  or  space,  I  shall  stand  before  the  throne  of  the 
Father  of  all  spirits,  receiving  of  His  wisdom  and  ful- 
filling His  commandments.  Yet,  O  God,  help  Thou  my 
unbelief.  O  God,  draw  and  deliver  me  from  this  abyss." 

From  this  time  forward  here  and  there  in  the  diary 
were  to  be  found  passages,  or  rather  sentences,  that 
Morris  did  not  understand.  They  alluded  to  some 
secret  and  persistent  effort  which  the  writer  had  been 
making,  and  after  one  of  them  came  these  words,  "  I 
have  failed  again,  but  she  was  near  me ;  I  am  sure  that 
she  was  very  near  me." 

Then  at  last  came  this  entry,  which,  as  the  writing 
showed,  was  written  with  a  shaking  hand.  "  I  have 
seen  her  beyond  the  possibility  of  doubt.  She  appeared, 
and  was  with  me  quite  a  while ;  and,  oh !  the  rapture  \ 
It  has  left  me  weak  and  faint  after  all  that  long,  long 


STELLAS  DIARY  301 

preparation.  It  is  of  the  casting  forth  of  spirits  that  it 
is  said,  '  This  kind  goeth  not  out  but  by  prayer  and 
fasting,'  but  it  is  true  also  of  the  drawing  of  them 
down.  To  see  a  spirit  one  must  grow  akin  to  spirits, 
which  is  not  good  for  us  who  are  still  in  the  flesh.  I 
am  satisfied.  I  have  seen,  and  I  know.  Now  I  shall 
call  her  back  no  more  lest  the  thing  should  get  the 
mastery  of  me,  and  I  become  unfitted  for  my  work  on 
earth.  This  morning  I  could  scarcely  hold  the  bow 
of  the  violin,  and  its  sweetest  notes  sounded  harsh  to 
me ;  I  heard  discords  among  their  harmonies.  Also  I 
had  no  voice  to  sing,  and  after  all  the  money  and  time 
that  have  been  spent  upon  them,  I  must  keep  up  my 
playing  and  singing,  since,  perhaps,  in  the  future  if  my 
father's  health  should  fail,  as  it  often  threatens  to  do, 
they  may  be  our  only  means  of  livelihood.  No,  I  shall 
try  no  more ;  I  will  stop  while  there  is  yet  time,  while  I 
am  still  my  own  mistress  and  have  the  strength  to  deny 
myself  this  awful  joy.  But  I  have  seen  !  I  have  seen, 
and  I  am  thankful,  who  shall  never  doubt  again.  Yet 
the  world,  and  those  who  tread  it,  can  never  more  be 
quite  the  same  to  me,  and  that  is  not  wholesome.  This 
is  the  price  which  must  be  paid  for  vision  of  that  which 
we  were  not  meant  to  touch,  to  taste,  to  handle." 

After  this,  for  some  years  —  until  it  was  decided, 
indeed,  that  they  should  move  to  Monksland — there  was 
little  of  startling  interest  in  the  diary.  It  recorded  descrip- 
tions of  the  wild  moorland  scenery,  of  birds,  and  ferns, 
and  flowers.  Also  there  were  sketches  of  the  peasantry 
and  of  the  gentlefolk  with  whom  the  writer  came  in 
contact;  very  shrewd  and  clever,  some  of  them,  but 
with  this  peculiarity  —  that  they  were  absolutely  free 


302  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

from  unkindness  of  thought  or  words,  though  some- 
times their  author  allowed  herself  the  license  of  a  miti- 
gated satire.  Such  things,  with  notes  of  domestic  and 
parish  matters,  and  of  the  progress  made  in  her  arduous 
and  continual  study  of  vocal  and  instrumental  music, 
made  up  the  sum  of  these  years  of  the  diary.  Then 
at  length,  at  the  beginning  of  the  last  volume,  came  this 
entry  : 

"The  unexpected  has  happened,  somebody  has 
actually  been  found  in  whose  eyes  this  cure  of  souls 
is  desirable  —  namely,  a  certain  Mr.  Tomley,  the  rector 
of  a  village  called  Monksland,  upon  the  East  Coast  of 
England.  I  will  sum  up  the  history  of  the  thing.  For 
some  years  I  have  been  getting  tired  of  this  place,  al- 
though, in  a  way,  I  love  it  too.  It  is  so  lonely  here,  and 
—  I  confess  my  weakness  —  playing  and  singing  as  I  do 
now,  I  should  like,  occasionally,  to  have  a  better  audience 
than  a  few  old,  half-deaf  clergymen,  their  preoccupied 
and  commonplace  wives,  some  yeomen  farmers,  and  a 
curate  or  two. 

"  It  was  last  year,  though  I  find  that  I  didn't  put  it 
down  at  the  time,  that  at  the  concert  in  aid  of  the  re- 
building of  Pankf  ord  church  I  played  Tartini's  '  II  Trillo 
del  Diavolo,'  to  me  one  of  the  weirdest  and  most  wonderful 
bits  of  violin  music  in  the  world.  I  know  that  I  was  al- 
most crying  when  I  finished  it.  But  next  day  I  saw  in  the 
report  in  the  local  paper,  written  by  'Our  Musical  Man,' 
that  '  Miss  Fregelius  then  relieved  the  proceedings  with 
a  comic  interlude  on  the  violin,  which  was  much  ap- 
preciated by  the  audience.'  It  was  that,  I  confess  it  — 
yes,  the  idiotic  remark  of  '  Our  Musical  Man,'  which 
made  me  determine  if  it  was  in  any  way  possible  that  I 


STELLAS  DIARY  303 

would  shake  the  dust  of  this  village  off  my  feet.  Then, 
so  far  as  my  father  is  concerned,  the  stipend  is  wretched 
and  decreasing.  Also  he  has  never  really  got  on  here  ; 
he  is  too  shy,  too  reserved,  perhaps,  in  a  way,  too  well  read 
and  educated,  for  these  rough-and-ready  people.  Even 
his  foreign  name  goes  against  him.  The  curates  about 
here  call  him  '  Frigid  Fregelius.'  It  is  the  local  idea 
of  a  joke. 

"  So  I  persuaded  him  to  advertise  for  an  exchange, 
although  he  said  it  was  a  mere  waste  of  money,  as 
nobody  in  his  senses  would  look  at  this  parish.  Then 
came  the  wonderful  thing.  After  the  very  first  adver- 
tisement—  yes,  the  very  first  —  arrived  a  letter  from 
a  Mr.  Tomley,  rector  of  Monksland,  where  the  stipend 
is  ;£iooa  year  better  than  this,  saying  that  he  would 
wish  to  inquire  into  the  matter.  He  has  inquired,  he 
has  been,  a  pompous  old  gentleman  with  a  slow  voice 
and  a  single  lock  of  white  hair  above  his  forehead ;  he 
says  that  it  is  satisfactory,  and  that,  subject  to  the 
consent  of  the  bishop,  etc.,  he  thinks  that  he  will  be 
glad  to  effect  the  exchange.  Afterwards  I  found  him 
in  front  of  the  house  staring  at  the  moorland  behind, 
the  sea  in  front,  and  the  church  in  the  middle,  and  look- 
ing very  wretched.  I  asked  him  why  he  wanted  to  do 
it  —  the  words  popped  out  of  my  mouth,  I  couldn't  help 
them  ;  it  was  all  so  odd. 

"  Then  I  found  out  the  reason.  Mr.  Tomley  has  a  wife 
who  is,  or  thinks  she  is  —  I  am  not  sure  which  —  an  in- 
valid, and  who,  I  gather,  speaks  to  Mr.  Tomley  with  no 
uncertain  sound.  Mr.  Tomley's  wife  was  the  niece  of 
a  long-departed  rector  who  was  inducted  in  1815,  and 
reigned  here  for  forty-five  years.  He  was  rich,  a  bach- 


304  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

elor,  and  rebuilt  the  church.  (Is  it  not  all  written  in 
the  fly-leaf  of  the  last  register  ? )  Mrs.  Tomley  inherited 
her  uncle's  landed  property  in  this  neighbourhood,  and 
says  that  she  is  only  well  in  the  air  of  Northumberland. 
So  Mr.  Tomley  has  to  come  up  here,  which  he  doesn't  at 
all  like,  although  I  gather  that  he  is  glad  to  escape  from 
his  present  squire,  who  seems  to  be  a  distinguished  but 
arbitrary  old  gentleman,  an  ex-Colonel  of  the  Guards ; 
rather  quarrelsome,  too,  with  a  habit  of  making  fun  of 
Mrs.  Tomley.  There's  the  explanation. 

"  So  just  because  of  the  silly  criticism  of  '  Our  Musical 
Man '  we  are  going  to  move  several  hundred  miles. 
But  is  that  really  the  cause  ?  Are  these  things  done  of 
our  own  desire,  or  do  we  do  them  because  we  must,  as 
our  forefathers  believed  ?  Beneath  our  shouts  and  chat- 
tering they  always  heard  the  slow  thunder  of  the  waves 
of  Fate.  Through  the  flare  of  our  straw  fires  and  the 
dust  of  our  hurrying  feet,  they  could  always  see  the 
shadow  of  his  black  banners  and  the  sheen  of  his  ad- 
vancing spears,  and  for  them  every  wayside  sign-post 
was  painted  with  his  finger. 

"I  think  like  that,  too,  perhaps  because  I  am  all, 
nearly  all,  Norse,  and  we  do  not  shake  off  the  strong  and 
ancient  shackle  of  our  blood  in  the  space  of  a  few  gen- 
erations of  Christian  freedom  and  enlightenment.  Yes, 
I  see  the  finger  of  Fate  upon  this  sign-post  of  an  adver- 
tisement in  a  Church  paper.  His  flag  is  represented  to 
me  by  Mr.  Tomley's  white  and  cherished  lock.  Assur- 
edly our  migration  is  decreed  of  the  Norns,  therefore  I 
accept  it  without  question ;  but  I  should  like  to  know 
what  kind  of  a  web  of  destiny  they  are  weaving  for  us 
yonder  in  the  place  called  Monksland." 


CHAPTER   XXI 

THE  END  OF  STELLA'S  DIARY 

A  MONTH  or  two  later  in  the  diary  came  the  ac- 
count of  the  shipwreck  of  the  Trondhjem  and  of  the 
writer's  rescue  from  imminent  death.  "  My  first  great 
adventure,"  the  pages  were  headed.  They  told  how  her 
father,  with  whom  ready-money  was  a  scarce  commodity, 
and  who  had  a  passion  for  small  and  uncomfortable 
economies,  suddenly  determined  to  save  two  or  three 
pounds  by  taking  a  passage  in  a  Norwegian  tramp 
steamboat  named  the  Trondhjem.  This  vessel,  laden 
with  a  miscellaneous  cargo,  had  put  in  at  a  Northum- 
brian port,  and  carried  freight  consisting  of  ready-made 
windows,  door-frames,  and  other  wooden  house-fittings 
suited  to  the  requirements  of  the  builders  of  seaside 
villas,  to  be  delivered  at  the  rising  watering-place  of 
Northwold,  upon  her  way  to  London.  Then  followed  a 
description  of  the  voyage,  the  dirt  of  the  ship,  the  sur- 
passing nastiness  of  the  food,  and  the  roughness  of  the 
crew,  whose  sailor-like  qualities  inspired  the  writer  with 
no  confidence. 

Next,  the  diary  which  now  had  been  written  up  by 
Stella  in  the  Abbey  where  Morris  read  it,  went  on  to 
tell  of  how  she  had  gone  to  her  berth  one  night  in  the 
cabin  next  to  that  occupied  by  her  father,  and  being 
tired  by  a  long  day  in  the  strong  sea  air  had  fallen 

305 


306  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

instantly  into  a  heavy  sleep,  which  was  disturbed  by  a 
nightmare-like  dream  of  shock  and  noise.  This  im- 
agined pandemonium,  it  said,  was  followed  by  a  great 
quiet,  in  the  midst  of  which  she  awoke  to  miss  the 
sound  of  the  thumping  screw  and  of  the  captain  shouting 
his  orders  from  the  bridge. 

For  a  while,  the  writing  told,  she  lay  still,  till  a  sense 
that  something  was  wrong  awoke  her  thoroughly,  when 
she  lit  the  candle  which  she  kept  by  her  berth,  and,  ris- 
ing, peeped  out  into  the  saloon  to  see  that  water  was 
washing  along  its  floor.  Presently  she  made  another 
discovery,  that  she  was  alone,  utterly  alone,  even  her 
father's  cabin  being  untenanted. 

The  rest  need  not  be  repeated  in  detail.  Throwing 
on  some  garments,  and  a  red  cloak  of  North-country 
frieze,  she  made  her  way  to  the  deck  to  find  that  the 
ship  was  abandoned  by  every  living  soul,  including  her 
own  father;  why,  or  under  what  circumstances,  re- 
mained a  mystery.  She  retreated  into  the  captain's 
cabin,  which  was  on  deck,  being  afraid  to  go  below  again 
in  the  darkness,  and  sheltered  there  until  the  light 
came.  Then  she  went  out,  and  through  the  dim,  mist- 
laden  dawn  crept  forward  to  the  forecastle,  and  staring 
over  the  side  discovered  that  the  prow  of  the  ship  was 
fixed  upon  a  rock,  while  her  stern  and  waist,  which 
floated  clear,  heaved  and  rolled  with  every  sea.  As  she 
stood  thus  the  vessel  slipped  back  along  the  reef  three 
feet  or  more,  throwing  her  to  the  deck,  and  thrilling  her 
from  head  to  foot  with  the  most  sickening  sensation  she 
had  ever  experienced.  Then  the  Trondhjem  caught 
and  hung  again,  but  Stella,  so  she  wrote,  knew  that 
the  end  must  be  near,  as  the  ship  would  lift  off  with 


THE  END   OF  STELLAS  DIARY  307 

the  full  tide  and  founder;  and  for  the  first  time  felt 
afraid. 

"I  did  not  fear  what  might  come  after  death,"  went 
on  the  diary,  "  but  I  did  fear  the  act  of  death.  I  was 
so  lonely,  and  the  dim  waters  looked  so  cold ;  the  brown 
shoulders  of  the  rocks  which  showed  now  and  again 
through  the  surges,  so  cruel.  To  be  dashed  by  those 
cold  waters  upon  those  iron  rocks  till  the  life  was  slowly 
ground  out  of  my  body  !  And  my  father  —  the  thought 
of  him  tormented  my  mind.  Was  he  dead,  or  had  he 
deserted  me  ?  The  last  seemed  quite  impossible,  for  it 
would  have  supposed  him  a  coward,  and  I  was  sure 
that  he  would  die  rather  than  leave  me  ;  therefore,  as  I 
feared,  the  first  must  be  true.  I  was  afraid,  and  I  was 
wretched,  and  I  said  my  prayers  and  cried  a  little,  while 
the  cold  struck  me  through  the  red  cloak,  and  the  damp 
mist  made  me  shiver. 

"  Then  suddenly  I  remembered  that  it  had  not  been 
the  custom  of  my  ancestors  and  countrywomen  of  the 
old  time  to  die  weeping,  and  with  the  thought  some  of 
my  courage  came  back.  I  rose  from  the  deck  and  stood 
upon  the  prow  of  the  ship,  supporting  myself  by  a  rope, 
as  many  a  dead  woman  of  my  race  has  done  before  me 
in  the  hour  of  battle  and  shipwreck.  As  I  stood  thus, 
believing  that  I  was  about  to  die,  there  floated  into  my 
mind  a  memory  of  the  old  Norse  song  that  my  mother 
had  taught  me  as  she  learned  it  from  her  mother.  It 
is  called  the  '  Song  of  the  Overlord,'  and  for  genera- 
tions without  count  on  their  death-beds  has  been  sung, 
or  if  they  were  too  weak  to  sing,  whispered,  by  the 
women  of  my  family.  Even  my  mother  murmured  it 
upon  the  day  she  died,  although  to  all  appearances  she 


308  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

had  become  an  Englishwoman;  and  the  first  line   of 

it, 

"  <  Hail  to  thee,  Sky  King  !     Hail  to  thee,  Earth  King  ! ' 

were  the  last  words  that  the  gentlest  creature  whom  I 
ever  knew,  my  sister  Gudrun,  muttered  before  she  became 
unconscious.  This  song  it  has  always  been  held  un- 
lucky to  sing  except  upon  the  actual  approach  of  death, 
since  otherwise,  so  goes  the  old  saying,  'it  draws 
the  arrow  whose  flight  was  wide,'  and  Death,  being 
invoked,  comes  soon.  Still,  for  me  I  believed  there 
was  no  escape,  for  I  was  quite  sure  from  her  movements 
that  the  steamer  would  soon  come  off  the  rocks,  and  I  had 
made  my  confession  and  said  my  prayers.  So  I  began 
to  sing,  and  sang  my  loudest,  pleasing  myself  with  the 
empty,  foolish  thought  that  in  some  such  circumstance 
as  this  many  a  Danish  sea-king's  daughter  had  sung 
that  song  before  me. 

"  Then,  as  I  sang,  a  wind  began  to  blow,  and  suddenly 
the  mist  was  driven  before  it  like  puffs  of  smoke,  and 
in  the  east  behind  me  rose  the  red  ball  of  the  sun.  Its 
light  fell  upon  the  rocks  and  upon  the  waters  beyond 
them,  and  there  to  my  amazement,  appearing  and  dis- 
appearing upon  the  ridges  and  hollows  of  the  swell,  I 
saw  a  man  alone  in  a  sailing-boat,  which  rode  at  anchor 
within  thirty  yards  of  me.  At  first  I  thought  that  it 
must  be  my  father,  then  the  man  caught  sight  of  me, 
and  I  saw  his  face  as  he  looked  up,  for  the  sun  shone 
upon  his  dark  eyes,  and  knew  that  he  was  a  stranger. 

"He  lifted  his  anchor  and  called  to  me  to  come  to  the 
companion  ladder,  and  his  voice  told  me  that  he  was  a 
gentleman.  I  could  not  meet  him  as  I  was,  with  my 
hair  loose,  and  bare-footed  like  some  Norse  Viking  girl. 


THE  END   OF  STELLAS  DIARY  309 

So  I  took  the  risk,  for  now,  although  I  cannot  tell  why, 
I  felt  sure  that  no  harm  would  come  to  him  or  me,  and 
ran  to  the  cabin,  where  also  was  this  volume  of  my  diary 
and  my  mother's  jewels  that  I  did  not  wish  to  lose. 
When  at  last  I  was  ready  after  a  fashion,  I  came  out 
with  my  bag,  and  there,  splashing  through  the  water  of 
the  saloon,  ran  the  stranger,  shouting  angrily  to  me  to 
be  quick,  as  the  ship  was  lifting  off  the  rock,  which 
made  me  think  how  brave  it  was  of  him  to  come  aboard 
to  look  for  me.  In  an  instant  he  caught  me  by  the 
hand,  and  was  dragging  me  up  the  stairs  and  down  the 
companion,  so  that  in  another  minute  we  were  together 
in  the  boat,  and  he  had  told  me  that  my  father  was  on 
shore  —  thank  God  !  — though  with  a  broken  thigh." 

Then  some  pages  of  the  diary  were  taken  up  with  the 
description  of  the  twenty-four  hours  which  she  had 
spent  on  the  open  sea  with  himself,  of  their  landing, 
dazed  and  exhausted,  at  the  Dead  Church,  and  her 
strange  desire  to  explore  it,  their  arrival  at  the  Abbey, 
and  her  meeting  with  her  father.  After  these  came  a 
passage  that  may  be  quoted  :  — 

"He  is  not  handsome  —  I  call  him  plain — with  his 
projecting  brow,  large  mouth,  and  untidy  brown  hair. 
But  notwithstanding  his  stoop  and  his  thin  hands,  he 
looks  a  fine  man,  and,  when  they  light  up,  his  eyes  are 
beautiful.  It  was  brave  of  him,  too,  very  brave,  although 
he  thinks  nothing  of  it,  to  come  out  alone  to  look  for  me 
like  that.  I  wonder  what  brought  him  ?  I  wonder  if 
anything  told  his  mind  that  I,  a  girl  whom  he  had  never 
seen,  was  really  on  the  ship  and  in  danger  ?  Perhaps  — 
at  any  rate,  he  came,  and  the  odd  thing  is  that  from  the 
moment  I  saw  him,  and  especially  from  the  moment  I 


310  STELLA  F REG  ELI  US 

heard  his  voice,  I  felt  as  though  I  had  known  him  all  my 
life.  Probably  he  would  think  me  mad  if  I  were  to  say 
so ;  indeed,  I  am  by  no  means  sure  that  he  does  not  pay 
me  that  compliment  already,  with  some  excuse,  perhaps, 
in  view  of  the  '  Song  of  the  Overlord '  and  all  my  wild 
talk.  Well,  after  such  a  night  as  I  had  spent  anyone 
might  be  excused  for  talking  foolishly.  It  is  the  reac- 
tion from  never  expecting  to  talk  again  at  all.  The 
chief  advantage  of  a  diary  is  that  one  may  indulge  in 
the  luxury  of  telling  the  actual  truth.  So  I  will  say 
that  I  feel  as  though  I  had  known  him  always ;  always 
—  and  as  though  I  understood  him  as  one  understands 
a  person  one  has  watched  for  years.  What  is  more,  I 
think  that  he  understands  me  more  than  most  people 
do ;  not  that  this  is  wonderful,  seeing  how  few  I  know. 
At  any  rate,  he  guesses  more  or  less  what  I  am  thinking 
about,  and  can  see  that  there  is  something  in  ideas  which 
others  consider  foolish,  as  perhaps  they  are. 

"  It  is  very  odd  that  I,  who  had  made  sure  that  I  was 
gone,  should  be  still  alive  in  this  pleasant  house,  and 
saved  from  death  by  this  pleasant  companion,  to  find 
my  father,  whom  I  feared  was  dead,  also  living.  And  all 
this  after  I  had  sung  the  '  Song  of  the  Overlord ! '  So 
much  for  its  ill-luck.  But,  all  the  same,  my  father  was 
rather  upset  when  he  heard  that  I  had  been  found  sing- 
ing it.  He  is  very  superstitious,  my  dear  old  father ;  that 
is  one  of  the  few  Norse  characteristics  which  he  has  left 
hi  him.  I  told  him  that  there  was  no  use  in  being  dis- 
turbed, since,  in  the  end,  things  must  go  as  they  are  fated. 

"  Mr.  Monk  is  engaged  to  a  Miss  Person.  He  told 
me  that  in  the  boat.  I  asked  him  what  he  was  thinking 
of  when  we  nearly  over-set  against  that  dreadful  rock, 


THE  END   OF  STELLAS  DIARY  311 

He  answered  that  he  could  only  think  of  the  song  he 
had  heard  me  singing  on  the  ship,  which  I  considered  a 
great  compliment  to  my  voice,  quite  the  nicest  I  ever 
had.  But  he  ought  to  have  been  thinking  about  the 
lady  to  whom  he  is  engaged,  and  he  understood  that  I 
thought  so,  which  I  daresay  I  should  not  have  allowed 
him  to  do.  However,  when  people  believe  that  they  are 
going  to  be  drowned  they  grow  confidential,  and  expose 
their  minds  freely.  He  exposed  his  when  he  told  me 
that  he  thought  I  was  talking  egregious  nonsense,  and 
I  am  afraid  that  I  laughed  at  him.  I  don't  think  that 
he  really  can  love  her  —  that  is,  as  engaged  people  are 
supposed  to  love  each  other.  If  he  did  he  would  not 
have  grown  so  angry  —  with  himself — and  then  turned 
upon  me  because  the  recollection  of  my  old  death  song 
had  interfered  with  the  reflections  which  he  ought  to 
have  offered  upon  her  altar.  That  is  what  struck  me 
as  odd ;  not  his  neglecting  to  remember  her  in  a  mo- 
ment of  danger,  since  then  we  often  forget  everything 
except  some  triviality  of  the  hour.  But,  of  course,  this 
is  all  nonsense,  which  I  oughtn't  to  write  here  even,  as 
most  people  have  their  own  ways  of  being  fond  of 
each  other.  Also,  it  is  no  affair  of  mine. 

"  I  have  seen  Miss  Person's  photograph,  a  large  one 
of  her  in  Court  dress,  which  stands  in  Mr.  Monk's 
laboratory  (such  a  lovely  place,  it  was  an  old  chapel). 
She  is  a  beautiful  woman ;  large  and  soft  and  regal- 
looking,  a  very  woman  ;  it  would  be  difficult  to  imagine 
a  better  specimen  of  '  the  eternal  feminine.'  Also,  they 
say,  that  is,  the  nurse  who  is  looking  after  my  father 
says,  that  she  is  very  rich  and  devoted  to  'Mr.  Morris.' 
So  Mr.  Morris  is  a  lucky  man.  I  wonder  why  he  didn't 


312  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

save  her  from  a  shipwreck  instead  of  me.  It  would 
have  given  an  appropriate  touch  of  romance  to  the 
affair,  which  is  now  entirely  wasted  upon  a  young  per- 
son, if  I  may  still  call  myself  so,  with  whom  it  has  no 
concern. 

"  What  interests  me  more  than  our  host's  matrimonial 
engagements,  however,  are  his  experiments  with  aero- 
phones. That  is  a  wonderful  invention  if  only  it  can 
be  made  to  work  without  fail  upon  all  occasions.  I  do 
wish  that  I  could  help  him  there.  It  would  be  some  re- 
turn for  his  great  kindness,  for  it  must  be  a  dreadful 
nuisance  to  have  an  old  clergyman  with  a  broken  leg 
and  his  inconvenient  daughter  suddenly  quartered  upon 
you  for  an  unlimited  period  of  time." 

The  record  of  the  following  weeks  was  very  full, 
but  almost  entirely  concerned  —  brief  mention  of  other 
things,  such  as  her  father's  health  excepted  —  with  full 
and  accurate  notes  and  descriptions  of  the  aerophone 
experiments.  To  Morris  reading  them  it  was  wonder- 
ful, especially  as  Stella  had  received  no  training  in  the 
science  of  electricity,  that  she  could  have  grasped  the 
subject  thus  thoroughly  in  so  short  a  time.  Evidently 
she  must  have  had  a  considerable  aptitude  for  its  theory 
and  practice,  as  might  be  seen  by  the  study  that  she 
gave  to  the  literature  which  he  lent  her,  including  some 
manuscript  volumes  of  his  own  notes.  Also  there  were 
other  entries.  Thus : 

"To-day  Mr.  Stephen  Layard  proposed  to  me  in  the 
Dead  Church.  I  had  seen  it  coming  for  the  last  three 
weeks  and  wished  to  avoid  it,  but  he  would  not  take  a 
hint.  I  am  most  sorry,  as  I  really  think  he  cares  about  me 
—  for  the  while  —  which  is  very  kind  of  him.  But  it  is 


THE  END   OF  STELLAS  DIARY  313 

out  of  the  question,  and  I  had  to  say  so.  Indeed,  he 
repels  me.  I  do  not  even  like  being  in  the  same  room 
with  him,  although  no  doubt  this  is  very  fastidious  and 
wrong  of  me.  I  hope  that  he  will  get  over  it  soon ;  in 
fact,  although  he  seemed  distressed,  I  am  not  vain 
enough  to  suppose  that  it  will  be  otherwise.  .  .  . 

"  Of  course,  my  father  is  angry,  for  reasons  which  I 
need  not  set  down.  This  I  expected,  but  he  said  some 
things  which  I  wish  he  had  left  unsaid,  for  they  made 
me  answer  him  as  I  ought  not  to  have  done.  Fathers 
and  daughters  look  at  marriage  from  such  different 
standpoints ;  what  is  excellent  in  their  eyes  may  be  as 
bad  as  death,  or  in  some  cases  worse  to  the  woman  who 
of  course  must  pay  the  price.  .  .  . 

"  I  sang  and  played  my  best  last  night,  my  very, 
very  best;  indeed,  I  don't  think  I  ever  did  so  well  be- 
fore, and  perhaps  never  shall  again.  He  was  moved  — 
more  moved  than  I  meant  him  to  be,  and  I  was  moved 
myself.  I  suppose  that  it  was  the  surroundings  ;  that 
old  chapel — how  well  those  monks  understood  acoustic 
properties — the  moonlight,  the  upset  to  my  nerves  this 
afternoon,  my  fear  that  he  believed  that  I  had  accepted 
Mr.  L.  (imagine  his  believing  that !  I  thought  better  of 
him,  and  he  did  believe  it)  —  everything  put  together. 

"  While  I  was  singing  he  told  me  that  he  was  going 
away  —  to  see  Miss  Person  at  Beaulieu,  I  suppose. 
When  I  had  finished  —  oh  !  how  tired  I  was  after  the 
effort  was  over  —  he  asked  me  straight  out  if  I  intended 
to  marry  Mr.  Layard,  and  I  asked  him  if  he  was  mad ! 
Then  I  put  another  question,  I  don't  know  why  ;  I  never 
meant  to  do  it,  but  it  came  up  from  my  heart  —  whether 
he  had  not  said  that  he  was  going  away  ?  In  answer  he 


314  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

explained  that  he  was  thinking  of  so  doing,  but  had 
changed  his  mind.  Oh!  I  was  pleased  when  I  heard 
that.  I  was  never  so  pleased  in  my  life  before.  After 
all,  the  gift  of  music  is  of  some  use. 

"  But  why  should  I  have  been  pleased  ?  Mr.  Monk's 
comings  or  goings  are  nothing  to  me ;  I  have  no  right 
to  interfere  with  them,  even  indirectly,  or  to  concern 
myself  about  them.  Yet  I  cried  when  I  heard  those 
words,  but  I  suppose  it  was  the  music  that  made  me 
cry;  it  has  that  inconvenient  effect  sometimes.  Well, 
I  have  no  doubt  that  he  will  see  plenty  of  Miss  Person, 
and  it  would  have  been  a  great  pity  to  break  off  the 
experiments  just  now." 

One  more  extract  from  the  very  last  entry  in  the 
series  of  books.  It  was  written  at  the  Rectory  on 
Christmas  Eve,  just  before  Stella  started  out  to  meet 
Morris  at  the  Dead  Church  : 

"He  —  Colonel  M.  —  asked  me  and  I  told  him  the 
truth  straight  out.  I  could  not  help  myself ;  it  burst 
from  my  lips,  although  the  strange  thing  is  that  until 
he  put  it  into  my  mind  with  the  question,  I  knew  noth- 
ing. Then  of  a  sudden,  in  an  instant ;  in  a  flash ;  I 
understood  and  I  knew  that  my  whole  being  belonged 
to  this  man,  his  son  Morris.  What  is  love?  Once  I 
remember  hearing  a  clever  cynic  argue  that  between 
men  and  women  no  such  thing  exists.  He  called 
their  affection  by  other  names,  and  said  that  for  true 
love  to  be  present  the  influence  of  sex  must  be  absent. 
This  he  proved  by  declaring  that  this  marvellous  pas- 
sion of  love  about  which  people  talk  and  write  is  never 
heard  of  where  its  object  is  old  or  deformed,  or  even 
very  ugly,  although  such  accidents  of  chance  and  time 


THE  END   OF  STELLAS  DIARY  315 

are  no  bar  to  the  true  love  of  —  let  us  say  —  the  child 
and  the  parent,  or  the  friend  and  the  friend. 

"  Well,  the  argument  seemed  difficult  to  answer,  al- 
though at  the  time  I  knew  that  it  must  be  wrong,  but 
how  could  I,  who  was  utterly  without  experience,  talk  of 
such  a  hard  matter  ?  Now  I  understand  that  love ;  the  real 
love  between  a  man  and  a  woman,  if  it  be  real,  embraces 
all  the  other  sorts  of  love.  More  —  whether  the  key  be 
physical  or  spiritual,  it  unlocks  a  window  in  our  hearts 
through  which  we  see  a  different  world  from  the  world 
that  we  have  known.  Also  with  this  new  vision  come 
memories  and  foresights.  This  man  whom  I  love  — 
three  months  ago  I  had  never  seen  his  face  —  and  now 
I  feel  as  though  I  had  known  him  not  only  all  my  life, 
but  from  the  beginning  of  time  —  as  though  we  never 
could  be  parted  any  more. 

"And  I  talk  thus  about  one  who  has  never  said 
a  tender  word  to  me.  Why  ?  Because  my  thought, 
is  his  thought,  and  my  mind  his  mind.  How  am  I 
sure  of  that  ?  Because  it  came  upon  me  at  the  mo- 
ment when  I  learned  the  truth  about  myself.  He  and 
I  are  one,  therefore  I  learned  the  truth  about  him 
also. 

"  I  was  like  Eve  when  she  left  the  Tree  ;  knowledge 
was  mine,  only  I  had  eaten  of  the  fruit  of  Life.  Yet  the 
taste  of  it  must  be  bitter  in  my  mouth.  What  have  I 
done  ?  I  have  given  my  spirit  into  the  keeping  of  a  man 
who  is  pledged  to  another  woman,  and,  as  I  think,  have 
taken  his  from  her  keeping  to  my  own.  What  then  ? 
Is  this  other  woman,  who  is  so  good  and  kind,  to  be 
robbed  of  all  that  is  left  to  her  in  the  world  ?  Am  I  to 
take  from  her  him  who  is  almost  her  husband  ?  Never. 


316  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

If  his  heart  has  come  to  me  I  cannot  help  it  —  for  the 
rest,  no.  So  what  is  left  to  me  ?  His  spirit  and  all  the 
future  when  the  flesh  is  done  with  ;  that  is  heritage 
enough.  How  the  philosopher  who  argued  about  the 
love  of  men  and  women  would  laugh  and  mock  if  he 
could  see  these  words.  Supposing  that  he  could  say, 
'  Stella  Fregelius,  I  am  in  a  position  to  offer  you  a 
choice.  Will  you  have  this  man  for  your  husband  and 
live  out  your  natural  lives  upon  the  strict  stipulation 
that  your  relationship  ends  absolutely  and  forever  with 
your  last  breaths  ?  Or  will  you  let  him  go  to  the  other 
woman  for  their  natural  lives  with  the  prospect  of  that 
heritage  which  your  imagination  has  fashioned ;  that 
dim  eternity  of  double  joy  where,  hand  in  hand,  twain 
and  yet  one,  you  will  fulfil  the  secret  purpose  of  your 
destinies  ? ' 

"  What  should  I  answer  then  ? 

"  Before  Heaven  I  would  answer  that  I  would  not  sell 
myself  to  the  devil  of  the  flesh  and  of  this  present  world. 
What!  Barter  my  birthright  of  immortality  for  the 
mess  of  pottage  of  a  few  brief  years  of  union  ?  Pay  out 
my  high  hopes  to  their  last  bright  coin  for  this  dinner  of 
mingled  herbs  ?  Drain  the  well  of  faith  dug  with  so 
many  prayers  and  labours,  that  its  waters  may  suffice  to 
nourish  a  rose  planted  in  the  sand,  whose  blooms  must 
die  at  the  first  touch  of  creeping  earthly  frost  ? 

"  The  philosopher  would  say  that  I  was  mad;  that  the 
linnet  in  the  hand  is  better  than  all  the  birds  of  paradise 
which  ever  flew  in  fabled  tropic  seas. 

"  I  reply  that  I  am  content  to  wait  till  upon  some 
glorious  morning  my  ship  breaks  into  the  silence  of 
those  seas,  and,  watching  from  her  battered  bulwarks, 


THE  END  OF  STELLAS  DIARY  317 

I  behold  the  islands  of  the  Blest  and  catch  the  scent  of 
heavenly  flowers,  and  see  the  jewelled  birds,  whereof  I 
dream  floating  from  palm  to  palm. 

"  '  But  if  there  are  no  such  isles  ? '  he  would  answer ; 
'  If,  with  their  magic  birds  and  flowers,  they  are  indeed 
but  the  baseless  fabric  of  a  dream  ?  If  your  ship,  amidst 
the  ravings  of  the  storm  and  the  darkness  of  the  tor- 
tured night,  should  founder  once  and  for  ever  in  the 
dark  strait  which  leads  to  the  gateways  of  that  Dawn  — 
those  gateways  through  which  no  traveller  returns  to 
lay  his  fellows'  course  for  the  harbours  of  your  perfect 
sea ;  what  then  ? '  " 

"  Then  I  would  say,  let  me  forswear  God  Who  has 
suffered  me  to  be  deceived  with  false  spirits,  and  sink 
to  depths  where  no  light  breaks,  where  no  memories 
stir,  where  no  hopes  torment.  Yes,  then  let  me  deny 
Him  and  die,  who  am  of  all  women  the  most  miserable. 
But  it  is  not  so,  for  to  me  a  messenger  has  come  ;  at  my 
prayer  once  the  Gates  were  opened,  and  now  I  know 
quite  surely  that  it  was  permitted  to  me  to  see  within 
them  that  I  might  find  strength  in  this  the  bitter  hour 
of  my  trial. 

"  Yet  how  can  I  choke  the  truth  and  tread  down  the 
human  heart  within  me  ?  Oh !  the  road  which  my  naked 
feet  must  tread  is  full  of  thorns,  and  heavy  the  cross 
that  I  must  bear.  I  go  now,  in  a  few  minutes'  time,  to 
bid  him  farewell.  If  I  can  help  it  I  shall  never  see  him 
again.  No,  not  even  after  many  years,  since  it  is  better 
not.  Also,  perhaps  this  is  weakness,  but  I  should  wish 
him  to  remember  me  wearing  such  beauty  as  I  have 
and  still  young,  before  time  and  grief  and  labour  have 
marked  me  with  their  ugly  scars.  It  is  the  Stella  whom 


3l8  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

he  found  singing  at  the  daybreak  on  the  ship  which 
brought  her  to  him,  for  whom  I  desire  that  he  should 
seek  in  the  hour  of  a  different  dawn. 

"  I  go  presently,  to  my  marriage,  as  it  were ;  a  cold  and 
pitiful  feast,  many  would  think  it — these  nuptials  of  life- 
long renunciation.  The  philosopher  would  say,  Why 
renounce  ?  You  have  some  advantages,  some  powers, 
use  them.  The  man  loves  you,  play  upon  his  natural 
weakness.  Help  yourself  to  the  thing  that  chances  to 
be  desirable  in  your  eyes.  Three  years  hence  who  will 
blame  you,  who  will  even  remember?  His  father? 
Well,  he  likes  you  already,  and  in  time  a  man  of  the 
world  accepts  accomplished  facts,  especially  if  things 
go  well,  as  they  will  do,  for  that  invention  must  succeed. 
No  one  else  ?  Yes ;  three  others.  He  would  remember, 
however  much  he  loved  me,  for  I  should  have  brought 
him  to  do  a  shameful  act.  And  she  would  remember, 
whom  I  had  robbed  of  her  husband,  coming  into  his  life 
after  he  had  promised  himself  to  her.  Last  of  all  — 
most  of  all,  perhaps  —  I  myself  should  remember,  day 
by  day,  and  hour  by  hour,  that  I  was  nothing  more  than 
one  of  the  family  of  thieves. 

"  No ;  I  will  have  none  of  such  philosophy ;  at  least  I, 
Stella  Fregelius,  will  live  and  die  among  the  upright. 
So  I  go  to  my  cold  marriage,  such  as  it  is ;  so  I  bend  my 
back  to  the  burden,  so  I  bow  my  head  to  the  storm ; 
and  throughout  it  all  I  thank  God  for  what  he  has  been 
pleased  to  send  me.  I  may  seem  poor,  but  how  rich  I 
am  who  have  been  dowered  with  a  love  that  I  know  to  be 
eternal  as  my  eternal  soul.  I  go,  and  my  husband  shall 
receive  me,  not  with  a  lover's  kiss  and  tenderness,  but 
with  words  few  and  sad,  with  greetings  that,  almost  before 


THE  END   OF  STELLAS  DIARY  319 

their  echoes  die,  must  fade  into  farewells.  I  wrap  no 
veil  about  my  head,  he  will  set  no  ring  upon  my  hand, 
perchance  we  shall  plight  no  troth.  So  be  it;  our  hour 
of  harvest  is  not  yet. 

"  Yesterday  was  very  sharp  and  bleak,  with  scuds  of 
sleet  and  snow  driven  by  the  wind,  but  as  I  drove  here 
with  my  father  I  saw  a  man  and  a  woman  in  the  midst 
of  an  empty,  lifeless  field,  planting  some  winter  seed. 
Who,  looking  at  them,  who  that  did  not  know,  could 
foretell  the  fruits  of  their  miserable,  unhopeful  labour? 
Yet  the  summer  will  come  and  the  sweet  smell  of  the 
flowering  beans,  and  the  song  of  the  nesting  birds,  and 
the  plentiful  reward  of  the  year  crowned  with  fatness. 
It  is  a  symbol  of  this  marriage  of  mine.  To-day  we  sow 
the  seed ;  next,  after  a  space  of  raving  rains  and  winds, 
will  follow  the  long,  white  winter  of  death,  then  some 
dim,  sweet  spring  of  awakening,  and  beyond  it  the  ful- 
ness of  all  joy. 

"What  is  there  about  me  that  it  would  make  me 
ashamed  that  he  should  know;  this  husband  to  whom  I 
must  tell  nothing  ?  I  cannot  think.  No  other  man  has 
been  anything  to  me.  I  can  remember  no  great  sin.  I 
have  worked,  making  the  best  of  such  gifts  as  I  possess. 
I  have  tried  to  do  my  duty,  and  I  will  do  it  to  the  end. 
Surely  my  heart  is  whole  and  my  hands  are  clean.  Per- 
haps it  is  a  sin  that  I  should  have  learned  to  love  him ; 
that  I  should  look  to  a  far  future  where  I  may  be  with 
him.  If  so,  am  I  to  blame,  who  ask  nothing  here?  Can  I 
conquer  destiny  who  am  its  child  ?  Can  I  read  or  shape 
the  purpose  of  my  Maker  ? 

"  And  so  I  go.  O  God,  I  pray  Thee  of  Thy  mercy, 
give  me  strength  to  bear  my  temptations  and  my  trials ; 


320  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

and  to  him,  also,  give  every  strength  and  blessing.  O 
Father,  I  pray  Thee  of  Thy  mercy,  shorten  these  the  days 
of  my  tribulation  upon  earth.  Accept  and  sanctify  this 
my  sacrifice  of  denial ;  grant  me  pardon  here,  and  here- 
after through  all  the  abyss  of  time  in  Thy  knowledge 
and  presence,  that  perfect  peace  which  I  desire  with 
him  to  whom  I  am  appointed.  Amen." 


CHAPTER   XXII 
THE  EVIL  GATE 

SUCH  was  the  end  of  the  diary  of  Stella. 

Morris  shut  the  book  with  something  like  a  sob. 
Then  he  rose  and  began  to  tramp  up  and  down  the 
length  of  the  long,  lonely  room,  while  thoughts,  crowded, 
confused,  and  overwhelming,  pressed  in  upon  his  mind. 
What  a  woman  was  this  whom  he  had  lost !  Who  had 
known  another  so  pure,  so  spiritual  ?  Surely  she  did 
not  belong  to  this  world,  and  therefore  her  last  prayer 
was  so  quickly  answered,  therefore  Heaven  took  her. 
Many  reading  those  final  pages  might  have  said  with 
the  philosopher  she  imagined  that  the  shock  of  love 
and  the  sorrow  of  separation  had  turned  her  brain,  and 
that  she  was  mad.  For  who,  so  such  might  argue, 
would  think  that  person  otherwise  than  mad  who  dared 
to  translate  into  action,  and  on  earth  to  set  up  as  a 
ruling  star,  that  faith  which  day  by  day  their  lips  pro- 
fessed. 

Yet  it  would  seem  after  all  that  this  "  dreamer  and 
mystic  "  Stella  believed  in  nothing  which  our  religion, 
accepted  by  millions  without  cavil,  does  not  promise  to 
its  votaries.  Its  revelations  and  rewards  marked  the 
extremest  limits  of  her  fantasy;  immortality  of  the 
personal  soul,  its  foundation  stone,  was  the  rock  on 
which  she  built.  A  heaven  where  there  is  no  earthly 

321 


322  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

marriage,  but  where  each  may  consort  with  the  souls 
most  loved  and  most  desired;  where  all  sorrows  are 
forgotten,  all  tears  are  wiped  away,  all  purposes  made 
clear,  reserved  for  those  who  deny  themselves,  do  their 
duty,  and  seek  forgiveness  of  their  sins  —  this  heaven 
conceived  by  Stella,  is  it  not  vowed  to  us  in  the  pages 
of  the  Gospel?  Is  it  not  vowed  again  and  again,  some- 
times with  more  detail,  sometimes  with  less  ;  sometimes 
in  open,  simple  words,  sometimes  wrapped  in  the  mystic 
allegory  of  the  visions  of  St.  John ;  but  everywhere 
and  continually  held  before  us  as  our  crown  and  great 
reward  ?  And  the  rest,  such  things  as  her  belief  in 
guardian  angels,  and  that  it  had  been  given  to  her 
mortal  eyes  to  behold  and  commune  with  a  beloved  ghost, 
is  there  not  ample  warrant  for  them  in  those  inspired 
writings  ?  Were  not  the  dead  seen  of  many  in  Jerusa- 
lem on  the  night  of  fear,  and  are  we  not  told  of  "  minis- 
tering spirits  sent  forth  to  do  service  for  the  sake  of 
them  that  shall  inherit  salvation  ? "  and  of  the  guardian 
angels,  who  look  continually  upon  the  Father  ? 

Now  it  all  grew  clear  to  Morris.  In  Stella  he  beheld  an 
example  of  the  doctrines  of  Christianity  really  inspiring 
the  daily  life  of  the  believer.  If  her  strong  faith  animated 
all  those  who  served  under  that  banner,  then  in  like 
circumstances  they  would  act  as  she  had  acted.  They 
would  have  no  doubts ;  their  fears  would  vanish ;  their 
griefs  be  comforted,  and,  to  a  great  extent,  even  the 
promptings  and  passions  of  their  mortality  would  be 
trodden  under  foot.  With  Stella  they  would  be  ready 
to  neglect  the  temporary  in  their  certainty  of  the  eter- 
nal, and  even  to  welcome  death,  to  them  in  truth,  and 
not  in  mere  convention,  the  Gate  of  Life. 


THE  EVIL   GATE  323 

Many  things  are  promised  to  those  who  can  achieve 
faith.  Stella  achieved  it  and  became  endued  with  some 
portion  of  the  promise.  Spiritual  faith,  not  inherited, 
nor  accepted,  but  hard-won  by  personal  struggle  and 
experience  ;  that  was  the  key-note  to  her  character  and 
the  explanation  of  her  actions.  Yet  that  faith,  when 
examined  into,  was  nothing  exotic ;  no  combination  of 
mysticism  and  mummery,  but  one  founded  upon  the  daily 
creed  of  the  English  and  its  fellow  churches,  and  under- 
stood and  applied  to  the  circumstances  of  a  life  which 
was  as  brief  as  it  seemed  to  be  unfortunate.  This  was 
Morris's  discovery,  open  and  obvious  enough,  and  yet  at 
first  until  he  grew  accustomed  to  it,  a  thing  marvellous 
in  his  eyes ;  one,  moreover,  in  which  he  found  comfort ; 
since  surely  that  straight  but  simple  path  was  such  as 
his  feet  might  follow. 

And  she  loved  him.  Oh !  how  she  had  loved  him. 
There  could  be  no  doubt ;  there  were  her  words  written 
in  that  book,  not  hastily  spoken  beneath  the  pressure 
of  some  sudden  wind  of  feeling,  but  set  down  in  black 
and  white,  thought  over,  reasoned  out,  and  recorded. 
And  then  their  purport.  They  were  no  paean  of  pas- 
sion, but  the  dirge  of  its  denial.  They  dwelt  upon  the 
natural  hopes  of  woman  only  to  put  them  by. 

"  Yet  how  can  I  choke  the  truth  and  tread  down  the 
human  heart  within  me  ?  Oh  !  the  road  that  my  naked 
feet  must  tread  is  full  of  thorns,  and  heavy  the  cross 
that  I  must  bear.  ...  So  I  go  to  my  marriage,  such 
as  it  is,  so  I  bend  my  back  to  the  burden,  so  I  bow  my 
head  to  the  storm,  and  through  it  all  I  thank  God 
for  what  He  has  been  pleased  to  send  me.  I  may 
seem  poor,  but  how  rich  I  am  who  have  been  dowered 


324  STELLA   FREGELIUS 

with  a  love  that  I  know  to  be  eternal  as  my  eternal 
soul." 

That  was  her  creed,  those  were  the  teachings  of  her 
philosophy.  And  this  was  the  woman  who  had  loved 
him,  who  died  loving  him.  Her  very  words  came  back, 
spoken  but  a  few  seconds  before  the  end  :  —  "  Remem- 
ber every  word  which  I  have  said  to  you.  Remember 
that  we  are  wed  —  truly  wed ;  that  I  go  to  wait  for  you, 
and  that  even  if  you  do  not  see  me,  I  will,  if  I  may,  be 
near  you  always." 

"  I  go  to  wait  for  you.  I  will  be  near  you  always." 
Here  was  another  inspiration.  For  three  years  or  more 
he  had  been  thinking  of  her  as  dead.  Or  rather  he 
had  thought  of  her  in  that  nebulous,  undefined  fashion 
in  which  we  consider  the  dead ;  the  slumberous  people 
who  forget  everything,  who  see  nothing ;  who,  if  they 
exist  at  all,  are  like  stones  upon  the  beach  rolled  to  and 
fro  blind  and  senseless,  not  of  their  own  desire,  but  by 
the  waves  of  a  fearful  fate  that  itself  is  driven  on  with 
the  strength  of  a  secret  storm  of  Will.  And  this  fate 
some  call  the  Breath  of  God,  and  some  the  working  of 
a  soulless  force  that  compels  the  universe,  past,  present, 
and  to  be. 

But  was  this  view  as  real  as  it  is  common  ?  If  Stella 
were  right,  if  our  religion  were  right,  it  must  be  most 
wrong.  That  religion  told  us  that  the  Master  of  man- 
kind descended  into  Hades  to  preach  to  the  souls  of 
men.  Did  he  preach  to  dumb,  ocean-driven  stones,  to 
frozen  forms  and  fossils  who  had  once  been  men,  or 
to  spirits,  changed,  but  active  and  existent  ? 

Stella,  too,  had  walked  in  the  valley  of  doubt,  by  the 
path  which  all  who  think  must  tread ;  it  was  written 


THE  EVIL   GATE  325 

large  in  the  book  of  her  life.  But  she  had  not  fainted 
there ;  she  had  lived  through  its  thunder-rains,  its  arid 
blasts  of  withering  dust,  its  quivering  quicksands,  and 
its  mirage-like  meadows  gay  with  deceitful,  poisonous 
flowers.  At  last  she  had  reached  the  mountain  slopes 
of  Truth,  to  travel  up  them  higher  —  ever  higher,  till 
she  won  their  topmost  peak,  where  the  sun  shone 
undimmed  and  the  pure  air  blew ;  whence  the  world 
seemed  far  away  and  heaven  very  near.  Yes,  and  from 
that  heaven  she  had  called  down  the  spirit  of  her  lost 
sister,  and  thenceforward  was  content  and  sure. 

She  had  called  down  the  spirit  of  her  sister.  Was  it 
not  written  in  the  pages  which  she  thought  that  no  eye 
but  hers  would  see  ? 

Well,  if  such  spirits  were,  hers  —  Stella's  —  must  be 
also.  And  if  they  could  be  made  apparent,  why 
should  not  hers  share  their  qualities? 

Morris  paused  in  his  swift  walk  and  trembled :  "I 
will  be  near  you  always."  For  aught  he  knew  she 
was  near  him  now  —  present,  perhaps,  in  this  very 
room.  While  she  was  still  in  life,  what  were  her  aspi- 
rations ?  This  was  one  of  them,  he  remembered,  as  it 
fell  from  her  lips :  "  Still  to  be  with  those  whom  I  have 
loved  on  earth,  although  they  cannot  see  me ;  to  soothe 
their  sorrows,  to  support  their  weakness,  to  lull  their 
fears."  And  if  this  were  so;  if  any  power  were  given 
her  to  fulfil  her  will,  whom  would  she  sooner  visit  than 
himself  ? 

Stay  !  That  was  her  wish  on  earth,  while  she  was  a 
woman.  But  would  she  still  wish  it  afterwards  ?  The 
spirit  was  not  the  flesh,  the  spirit  could  see  and  be  sure, 
while  the  flesh  must  be  content  with  deductions  and  haz- 


326  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

ardings.  If  she  could  see,  she  would  now  know  him  as  he 
was ;  every  failing,  every  secret  infirmity,  every  infidel- 
ity of  heart,  might  be  an  open  writing  to  her  eyes.  And 
then  would  she  not  close  that  book  in  horror  ? 

A  great  writer  has  said  in  effect  that  no  man  would 
dare  to  affront  the  ears  of  his  fellows  —  men  much  worse 
than  himself  perhaps  — with  the  true  details  of  his  hidden 
history.  Knowing  all  the  truth,  they  would  shrink  from 
him.  How  much  more  then  at  such  sights  and  sounds 
would  a  pure  spirit,  washed  clean  of  every  taint  of  earth, 
fly  from  his  soiled  presence,  wailing  and  aghast  ?  Nay, 
men  are  hypocrites,  who,  in  greater  or  less  degree, 
themselves  practice  the  very  sins  that  shock  them,  but 
spirits,  knowing  all,  would  forgive  all.  They  are  above 
hypocrisy.  If  the  Lord  of  spirits  can  weigh  the  "  dust 
whereof  we  are  made  "  and  still  be  merciful,  shall  his 
bright  messengers  trample  it  in  scorn  and  hate  ?  Will 
they  not  also  consider  the  longings  of  the  heart  and  its 
uprightness,  and  be  pitiful  towards  the  failings  of  the 
flesh  ?  Would  Stella  hate  him  because  he  remained 
as  he  was  made  —  as  herself  she  might  once  have  been  ? 
Because  having  no  wings  with  which  to  rule  the  air  he 
must  still  tramp  onwards  through  the  foetid,  clinging 
mud  of  earth  ? 

Oh !  how  he  longed  to  see  her,  that  he  might  win 
her  faith ;  win  it  beyond  all  doubt  by  the  evidence  of 
his  earthly  eyes  and  senses.  "  If  I  die,  search  and  you 
shall  see,"  she  had  once  said  to  him,  and  then  added. 
"No,  do  not  search,  but  wait."  Wait!  How  could  he  wait? 
"  At  your  death  I  will  be  with  you."  Why  he  might 
live  another  fifty  years!  That  book  of  her  recorded 
thoughts  had  aroused  in  him  such  a  desire  for  the  sight, 


THE  EVIL   GATE  327 

or  at  least  the  actual  knowledge  of  her  continued  being, 
that  his  blood  was  aflame  as  with  a  madness.  And  yet 
how  should  he  search  ? 

"  Stella,"  he  whispered,  "  come  to  me,  Stella !  "  But 
no  Stella  came ;  no  wings  rustled,  no  breath  stirred ;  the 
empty  room  was  as  the  room  had  been.  Its  silence 
seemed  to  mock  him.  Those  who  slept  beneath  its 
marble  floor  were  not  more  silent. 

Was  he  mad  that  he  should  claim  the  power  to  work 
this  miracle  —  to  charm  the  dead  back  through  the  Gates 
of  Death  as  Orpheus  charmed  Eurydice  ?  Yet  Stella  did 
this  thing  —  but  how?  He  turned  to  the  volume  and 
page  of  her  diary  which  dealt  with  the  drawing  down  of 
Gudrun.  Yes,  here  she  spoke  of  continual  efforts  and 
of  "  that  long,  long  preparation  "  —  of  prayer  and  fasting 
also.  Here,  too,  was  the  whole  secret  summed  up  in  a 
dozen  words :  "  To  see  a  spirit  one  must  grow  akin  to 
spirits."  Well,  it  could  be  done,  and  he  would  do  it. 
But  look  further  on  where  she  said :  "  I  shall  call  her 
back  no  more,  lest  the  thing  should  get  the  mastery  of 
me,  and  I  become  unfitted  for  my  work  on  earth.  .  .  . 
I  will  stop  while  there  is  yet  time,  while  I  am  still  mis- 
tress of  my  mind,  and  have  the  strength  to  deny  myself 
this  awful  joy." 

Was  there  not  a  warning  in  these  words,  and  in  those 
other  words :  *'  No,  do  not  search,  but  wait."  Surely  they 
told  of  risk  to  him  who,  being  yet  on  earth,  dared  to  lift 
a  corner  of  the  veil  which  separates  flesh  and  spirit. 
"  Should  get  the  mastery  of  me."  If  he  saw  her  once 
would  he  be  able  to  do  as  Stella  did,  and  by  an  effort  of 
his  will  separate  himself  from  a  communion  so  fearful  yet 
so  sweet  ?  "  Unfitted  for  my  work."  Supposing  that 


328  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

it  did  get  the  mastery  of  him,  would  he  not  also  be  un- 
fitted for  his  work  on  earth  ? 

His  work?  What  work  had  he  now?  It  seemed 
to  be  done ;  for  attending  scientific  meetings,  receiving 
dividends,  playing  the  country  squire's  only  son  and 
the  wealthy  host  whilst  awaiting  the  title  which  Mary 
wished  for — these  things  are  not  work,  and  somehow 
his  days  were  so  arranged  that  he  was  never  allowed  to 
go  beyond  them.  All  further  researches  and  experi- 
ments were  discouraged.  What  did  it  matter  if  he  were 
unfitted  for  that  which  he  could  no  longer  do  ?  His 
work  was  finished.  There  it  stood  before  him  in  that 
box,  stamped  "  Monk's  Aerophone.  The  Twin.  No. 

3412." 

No ;  he  had  but  one  ambition  left.  To  pierce  the  cur- 
tain of  thick  night  and  behold  her  who  was  lost  to  him  ; 
her  who  loved  him  as  man  had  been  seldom  loved. 

The  fierce  temptation  struck  him  as  a  sudden  squall 
strikes  a  ship  with  all  her  canvas  spread.  For  a  mo- 
ment mast  and  rigging  stood  the  strain,  then  they  went 
by  the  board.  He  would  do  it  if  it  killed  him  ;  but  the 
task  must  be  undertaken  properly,  deliberately,  and 
above  all  in  secret.  To-morrow  he  would  begin.  When 
he  had  satisfied  himself;  when  he  had  seen  ;  then  he 
could  always  stop. 

A  few  minutes  later  Morris  stood  beside  his  wife's 
bed.  There  she  lay,  in  the  first  perfection  of  young 
motherhood  and  beauty,  a  lovely,  white-wrapped  vision 
with  straying  golden  hair ;  her  sweet,  rounded  face  pink 
with  the  flush  of  sleep,  and  the  long  lashes  lying  like 
little  shadows  on  her  cheek. 

Morris  looked  at  her,  and  his  doubts  returned.    What 


THE  EVIL   GATE  329 

would  Stella  say  ?  he  thought  to  himself.  It  almost 
seemed  to  him  that  he  could  hear  her  voice,  bidding 
him  forbear ;  bidding  him  render  unto  his  wife  those 
things  which  were  his  wife's :  all  honour,  loyalty,  and 
devotion.  If  he  entered  on  this  course  could  he  still 
render  them  ?  Was  there  not  such  a  thing  as  moral 
infidelity,  and  did  not  such  exercises  as  he  proposed 
partake  of  its  nature  ?  Perhaps,  perhaps.  On  the 
whole  it  might  be  well  to  put  all  this  behind  him. 

It  was  three  o'clock,  he  was  tired  out,  and  must  sleep. 
The  morning  would  be  a  more  fitting  time  to  ponder 
such  weighty  questions  of  the  unwritten  matrimonial  law. 

In  due  course,  the  morning  came  —  indeed,  it  was  not 
far  off  —  and  with  it  wiser  counsels.  Mary  woke  early 
and  talked  about  the  baby,  which  was  teething;  indeed, 
so  soon  as  the  nurse  was  up  she  sent  for  it  that  the  three 
of  them  might  hold  a  consultation  over  a  swollen  gum. 
Also  she  discussed  the  date  of  their  departure  to  Beaulieu, 
for  again  Christmas  was  near  at  hand ;  adding,  however, 
somewhat  to  Morris's  relief,  that  unless  the  baby's  teeth 
went  on  better  she  really  did  not  think  that  they  could  go, 
as  it  would  be  most  unwise  to  take  her  out  of  the  care 
of  Dr.  Charters  and  trust  her  to  the  tender  mercies  of 
foreign  leeches.  Morris  agreed  that  it  might  be  risky, 
and  mentioned  that  in  a  letter  which  he  had  received 
from  the  concierge  at  Beaulieu  a  few  days  before,  that 
functionary  said  that  the  place  was  overrun  with  measles 
and  scarlatina. 

"  Morris !  "  ejaculated  Mary,  sitting  bolt  upright  in 
bed,  "  and  you  never  told  me !  What  is  more,  had  it 
not  been  for  baby's  teeth,  which  brought  it  to  your  mind, 
I  believe  you  never  would  have  told  me,  and  I  might 


330  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

have  taken  those  unprotected  little  angels  and  —  Oh ! 
goodness,  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  it." 

Morris  muttered  some  apologies,  whereon  Mary,  look- 
ing at  him  suspiciously  through  her  falling  hair,  asked : 

"  Why  did  you  forget  to  show  me  the  letter  ?  Did 
you  suppress  it  because  you  wanted  to  go  to  Beaulieu  ? " 

"  No," answered  Morris  with  energy;  "  I  hate  Beaulieu. 
I  forgot,  that  is  all;  because  I  have  so  much  to  think 
about,  I  suppose." 

"  So  much  ?  I  thought  that  things  were  arranged  now 
so  that  you  had  nothing  at  all  to  think  about  except  how 
to  spend  your  money  and  be  happy  with  me,  and  adore 
the  dear  angels  —  Yes,  I  think  that  perhaps  the  nurse 
had  better  take  her  away.  Touch  the  bell,  will  you  ? 
There,  she's  gone.  Keep  her  well  wrapped  up,  and 
mind  the  draught,  nurse. 

"  No,  don't  get  up  yet,  Morris ;  I  want  to  talk  to  you. 
You  have  been  very  gloomy  of  late,  just  like  you  used 
to  be  before  you  married,  mooning  about  and  staring  at 
nothing.  And  what  on  earth  do  you  do  sitting  up  to  all 
hours  of  the  morning  in  that  ghosty  old  chapel,  where 
I  wouldn't  be  alone  at  twelve  o'clock  for  a  hundred 
pounds  ? " 

"  I  read,"  said  Morris. 

"  Read  ?     Read  what  ?     Novels  ? " 

"Sometimes,"  answered  Morris. 

"  Oh,  how  can  you  tell  such  fibs  ?  Why,  that  last  book 
by  Lady  What's-her-name  which  came  in  the  Mudie  box 
—  the  one  they  say  is  so  improper  —  has  been  lying  on 
your  table  for  over  two  months,  and  you  can't  tell  me 
yet  what  it  was  the  heroine  did  wrong.  Morris,  you  are 
not  inventing  anything  more,  are  you  ? " 


THE  EVIL   GATE  331 

Here  was  an  inspiration.  "  I  admit  that  I  am  think- 
ing of  a  little  thing,"  he  said  with  diffidence,  as  though 
he  were  a  budding  poet  with  a  sonnet  on  his  mind. 

"  A  little  thing  ?     What  little  thing  ? " 

"Well,  a  new  kind  of  aerophone  designed  to  work 
uninfluenced  by  its  twin." 

"Well,  and  why  shouldn't  it?  Everything  can't 
have  a  twin  —  only  I  suppose  there  would  be  nothing 
to  hear." 

"That's  just  the  point,"  replied  Morris  in  his  old  pro- 
fessional manner.  "  I  think  there  would  be  plenty  to 
hear  if  only  I  could  make  the  machine  sensitive  to  the 
sounds  and  capable  of  reproducing  them." 

"  What  sounds  ?  "  asked  Mary. 

"  Well,  if,  for  instance,  one  could  successfully  insulate 
it  from  the  earth  noises,  the  sounds  which  permeate 
space,  and  even  those  that  have  their  origin  upon  the 
surfaces  of  the  planets  and  perhaps  of  the  more  distant 
stars." 

"  Great  heavens !  "  exclaimed  Mary,  "  imagine  a  man 
who  can  want  to  let  loose  upon  our  poor  little  world 
every  horrible  noise  that  happens  in  the  stars.  Why, 
what  under  heaven  would  be  the  use  of  it?" 

"  Well,  one  might  communicate  with  them.  Conceiv- 
ably even  one  might  hear  the  speech  of  their  inhabit- 
ants, if  they  have  any ;  always  presuming  that  such  an 
instrument  could  be  made,  and  that  it  can  be  success- 
fully insulated." 

"  Hear  the  speech  of  their  inhabitants  !  That  is  your 
old  idea,  but  you  will  never  succeed,  that's  one  blessing. 
Morris,  I  suspect  you ;  you  want  to  stop  at  home  here 
to  work  at  this  horrible  new  machine;  to  work  for  years, 


332  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

and  years,  and  years  without  the  slightest  result.  I 
suppose  that  you  didn't  invent  that  about  the  measles 
and  the  scarlatina,  did  you  ?  The  two  of  them  to- 
gether sound  rather  clumsy,  as  though  you  might  have 
done  so." 

"  Not  a  bit,  upon  my  honour,"  answered  Morris.  "  I 
will  go  and  get  the  letter,"  and,  not  sorry  to  escape  from 
further  examination,  he  went. 

Whether  the  cause  were  Mary's  doubts  and  reproaches, 
or  the  infant's  gums,  or  the  working  of  his  own  con- 
science, —  he  felt  that  a  man  with  a  teething  baby  has 
no  right  to  cultivate  the  occult.  For  quite  a  long  period, 
a  whole  fortnight,  indeed,  Morris  steadily  refrained 
from  any  attempt  to  fulfil  his  dangerous  ambition  to 
"  pierce  the  curtain  of  thick  night."  Only  he  read  and 
re-read  Stella's  diary  —  that  secret,  fascinating  work 
which  in  effect  was  building  a  wall  between  him  and 
the  healthy,  common  instincts  of  the  world  —  till  he 
knew  whole  pages  of  it  by  heart.  Also  he  began  a 
series  of  experiments  whereof  the  object  was  to  produce 
an  improved  and  more  sensitive  aerophone. 

That  any  instrument  which  the  intellect  of  man 
could  produce  would  really  succeed  in  conveying 
sounds  which,  if  they  exist  at  all,  are  born  in  the  vast 
cosmic  areas  that  envelope  our  earth  and  its  atmos- 
phere, he  believed  to  be  most  improbable.  Still,  such 
a  thing  was  possible,  for  what  is  not  ?  Moreover,  the 
world  itself  as  it  rushes  on  its  fearful  journey  across  the 
depths  of  space  has  doubtless  many  voices  that  have 
not  yet  been  heard  by  the  ears  of  men,  some  of  which 
he  might  be  able  to  discover  and  record.  At  the  least 
he  stood  upon  the  threshold  of  a  new  knowledge,  and 


THE  EVIL   GATE  333 

now  a  great  desire  arose  in  him  to  pass  its  doors,  if  so 
he  might,  for  who  could  tell  what  he  would  learn  or  see 
behind  them  ?  And  by  degrees,  as  he  worked,  always 
with  one  ulterior  object  in  his  mind,  his  scruples  van- 
ished or  were  mastered  by  the  growth  of  his  longing, 
till  this  became  his  ruling  passion  —  to  behold  the  spirit 
of  Stella.  Now  he  no  longer  reasoned  with  himself, 
but  openly,  nakedly,  in  his  own  heart  gave  his  will 
over  to  the  achievement  of  this  monstrous  and  unnatu- 
ral end. 

How  was  it  to  be  done  ?  That  was  now  the  sole  di- 
lemma which  tormented  him  —  as  the  possible  methods 
of  obtaining  the  drink  he  craves,  or  the  drug  that  gives 
him  peace  and  radiant  visions,  torment  the  dipsomaniac 
or  the  morphia  victim  in  his  guarded  prison.  He 
thought  of  his  instruments,  those  magic  machines  with 
the  working  of  which  Stella  had  been  familiar  in  her 
life.  He  even  poured  petitions  into  them  in  the  hope 
that  these  might  be  delivered  far  beyond  the  reach  or 
ken  of  man,  only  to  learn  that  he  was  travelling  a  road 
which  led  to  a  wall  impassable;  the  wall  that,  for  the 
lack  of  a  better  name,  we  call  Death,  which  bars  the 
natural  from  the  spiritual. 

Wonderful  as  were  his  electrical  appliances,  innumer- 
able as  might  be  their  impalpable  emanations,  insoluble 
as  seemed  the  mystery  of  their  power  of  catching  and 
transmitting  sounds  by  the  agency  of  ether,  they  were 
still  physical  appliances  producing  physical  effects  in 
obedience  to  the  laws  of  nature.  But  what  he  sought 
lay  beyond  nature  and  was  subject  to  some  rule  of 
which  he  did  not  even  know  the  elements,  and  much 
less  the  axioms.  Herein  his  instruments,  or  indeed,  any 


334  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

that  man  could  make,  were  as  futile  and  as  useless  as 
would  be  the  prayers  of  an  archbishop  addressed  to  a 
Mumbo-jumbo  in  a  fetish  house.  The  link  was  want- 
ing ;  there  was,  and  could  be,  no  communication  between 
the  two.  The  invisible  ether  which  he  had  subdued  to 
his  purposes  was  still  a  constituent  part  of  the  world 
of  matter ;  he  must  discover  the  spiritual  ether,  and  dis- 
cover also  the  animating  force  by  which  it  might  be 
influenced. 

Now  he  formed  a  new  plan  —  to  reach  the  dead 
by  his  petitions,  by  the  invocation  of  his  own  spirit. 
"  Seek  me  and  you  shall  find  me,"  she  had  said.  So 
he  sought  and  called  in  bitterness  and  concentration  of 
heart,  but  still  he  did  not  find.  Stella  did  not  come. 

He  was  in  despair.  She  had  promised,  and  her  pro- 
mise seemed  to  be  broken.  Then  it  was  that  in  turning 
the  pages  of  her  diary  he  came  across  a  passage  that 
had  escaped  him,  or  which  he  had  forgotten.  It  ran 
thus: 

"  In  the  result  I  have  learned  this,  that  we  cannot 
compel  the  departed  to  appear.  Even  if  they  hear  us 
they  will  not,  or  are  not  suffered  to  obey.  If  we  would 
behold  them  we  must  create  the  power  of  vision  in  our 
own  natures.  They  are  about  us  always,  only  we  can- 
not see  or  feel  their  presence ;  our  senses  are  too  gross. 
To  succeed  we  must  refine  our  senses  until  they  acquire 
an  aptitude  beyond  the  natural.  Then  without  any  will 
or  any  intervention  on  their  parts,  we  may  triumph, 
perhaps  even  when  they  do  not  know  that  we  have 
triumphed." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

STELLA  COMES 

Now,  by  such  arts  as  are  known  to  those  who  have 
studied  mysticism  in  any  of  its  protean  forms,  Morris 
set  himself  to  attempt  communication  with  the  unseen. 
In  their  practice  these  arts  are  as  superlatively  unwhole- 
some as  in  their  result,  successful  or  not,  they  are  un- 
natural. Also,  they  are  very  ancient.  The  Chaldeans 
knew  them,  and  the  magicians  who  stood  before  Pha- 
raoh knew  them.  To  the  early  Christian  anchorites  and 
to  the  gnostics  they  were  familiar.  In  one  shape  or  an- 
other, ancient  wonder-workers,  Scandinavian  and  medi- 
aeval seers,  modern  Spiritualists,  classical  interpreters  of 
oracles,  Indian  fakirs,  savage  witch-doctors  and  medi- 
cine men,  all  submitted  or  submit  themselves  to  the  yoke 
of  the  same  rule  in  the  hope  of  attaining  an  end  which, 
however  it  may  vary  in  its  manifestations,  is  identical  in 
essence. 

This  is  the  rule :  to  beat  down  the  flesh  and  its  in- 
stincts and  nurture  the  spirit,  its  aspirations  and  powers. 
And  this  is  the  end  —  to  escape  before  the  time,  if  only 
partially  and  at  intervals,  into  an  atmosphere  of  vision 
true  or  false,  where  human  feet  were  meant  to  find  no 
road,  and  the  trammelled  minds  of  men  no  point  of  out- 
look. That  such  an  atmosphere  exists  even  material- 
ists would  hesitate  to  deny,  for  it  is  proved  by  the  whole 

335 


336  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

history  of  the  moral  world,  and  especially  by  that  of  the 
religions  of  the  world,  their  founders,  their  prophets 
and  their  exponents,  many  of  whom  have  breathed  its 
ether,  and  pronounced  it  the  very  breath  of  life.  Their 
feet  have  walked  the  difficult  path ;  standing  on  those 
forbidden  peaks  they  have  scanned  the  dim  plains  and 
valleys  of  the  unseen,  and  made  report  of  the  dreams 
and  shapes  that  haunt  them.  Then  the  busy  hordes  of 
men  beneath  for  a  moment  pause  to  listen  and  are 
satisfied. 

"  Lo,  here  is  Truth,"  they  cry,  "  now  we  may  cease 
from  troubling."  So  for  a  while  they  rest  till  others 
answer,  "  Nay,  this  is  Truth ;  our  teacher  told  it  us  from 
yonder  mountain,  the  only  Holy  Hill."  And  yet  others 
fall  upon  them  and  slay  them,  shouting,  "  Neither  of 
these  is  Truth.  She  dwells  not  among  the  precipices, 
but  in  the  valley ;  there  we  have  heard  her  accents." 

And  still  from  cliff  to  cliff  and  along  the  secret  vales 
echoes  the  voice  of  Truth;  and  still  upon  the  snow- 
wreathed  peaks  and  across  the  space  of  rolling  ocean, 
and  even  among  the  populous  streets  of  men,  veiled, 
mysterious,  and  changeful,  her  shape  is  seen  by  those 
who  have  trained  themselves  or  been  inspired  to  watch 
and  hear.  But  no  two  see  the  same  shape,  and  no 
two  hear  the  same  voice,  since  to  each  she  wears  a 
different  countenance,  and  speaks  with  another  tongue. 
For  Truth  is  as  the  sand  of  the  shore  for  number,  and 
as  the  infinite  hues  of  the  rainbow  for  variety.  Yet  the 
sand  is  ground  out  of  one  mother  rock,  and  all  the 
colours  of  earth  and  air  are  born  of  a  single  sun. 

So,  practising  the  ancient  rites  and  mysteries,  and 
bowing  himself  to  the  ancient  law  whose  primeval  prin- 


STELLA   COMES  337 

ciples  every  man  and  woman  may  find  graven  upon  the 
tablets  of  their  solitary  heart,  Morris  set  himself  to  find 
that  truth,  which  for  him  was  hid  in  the  invisible  soul 
of  Stella,  the  soul  which  he  desired  to  behold  and 
handle,  even  if  the  touch  and  sight  should  slay  him. 

Day  by  day  he  worked,  for  as  many  hours  as  he 
could  make  his  own,  at  the  details  of  his  new  experi- 
ments. These  in  themselves  were  interesting,  and 
promised  even  to  be  fruitful ;  but  that  was  not  his  ob- 
ject, or,  at  any  rate,  his  principal  object  in  pursuing  them 
with  such  an  eager  passion  of  research.  The  talk  and 
hazardings  which  had  passed  between  himself  and  the 
living  Stella  notwithstanding,  both  reason  and  experi- 
ence had  taught  him  already  that  all  instruments  made 
by  the  hand  of  man  were  useless  to  break  a  way  into 
the  dwellings  of  the  departed.  A  day  might  come  when 
they  would  enable  the  inhabitants  of  earth  to  converse 
with  the  living  denizens  of  the  most  distant  stars ;  but 
never,  never  with  the  dead.  He  laboured  because  of 
the  frame  of  thought  his  toil  brought  with  it,  but  still 
more  that  he  might  be  alone :  that  he  might  be  able 
to  point  to  his  soiled  hands,  the  shabby  clothes  which 
he  wore  when  working  with  chemicals  or  at  the  forge, 
the  sheets  of  paper  covered  with  half-finished  and  mad- 
dening calculations,  as  an  excuse  why  he  should  not 
be  taken  out,  or,  worse  still,  dragged  from  his  home 
to  stay  for  nights,  or  perhaps  whole  weeks,  in  other 
places.  Even  his  wife,  he  felt,  would  relent  at  the 
sight  of  those  figures,  and  would  fly  from  the  odour  of 
chemicals. 

In  fact,  Mary  did  both,  for  she  hated  what  she  called 
"  smells,"  and  a  place  strewn  with  hot  irons  and  bottles 


338  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

of  acids,  which,  as  she  discovered,  if  disturbed  burnt  both 
dress  and  fingers.  The  sight  also  of  algebraic  characters 
pursuing  each  other  across  quires  of  paper,  like  the 
grotesque  forces  of  some  broken,  impish  army,  filled  her 
indolent  mind  with  a  wondering  admiration  that  was 
akin  to  fear.  The  man,  she  reflected,  who  could  force 
those  cabalistic  symbols  to  reveal  anything  worth  know- 
ing must  indeed  be  a  genius,  and  one  who  deserved  not 
to  be  disturbed,  even  for  a  tea  party. 

Although  she  disapproved  deeply  of  these  renewed 
studies,  such  was  Mary's  secret  thought.  Whether  it 
would  have  sufficed  alone  to  persuade  her  to  permit 
them  is  another  matter,  since  her  instinct,  keen  and 
subtle  as  any  of  Morris's  appliances,  warned  her  that 
in  them  lay  danger  to  her  home  and  happiness.  But 
just  then,  as  it  happened,  there  were  other  matters  to 
occupy  her  mind.  The  baby  became  seriously  ill  over 
its  teething,  and,  other  infantile  complications  follow- 
ing, for  some  weeks  it  was  doubtful  whether  she  would 
survive. 

Now  Mary  belonged  to  the  class  of  woman  which  is 
generally  known  as  "  motherly,"  and  adored  her  off- 
spring almost  to  excess.  Consequently  for  those  weeks 
she  found  plenty  to  think  about  without  troubling  her- 
self over-much  as  to  Morris  and  his  experiments.  For 
these  same  reasons,  perhaps,  she  scarcely  noticed,  seated 
as  she  was  some  distance  away  at  the  further  end  of  the 
long  table,  how  very  ethereal  her  husband's  appetite 
had  become,  or  that,  although  he  took  wine  as  usual,  it 
was  a  mere  pretence,  since  he  never  emptied  his  glass. 
The  most  loving  of  women  can  scarcely  be  expected  to 
consider  a  man's  appetite  when  that  of  a  baby  is  in 


STELLA   COMES  339 

question,  or,  while  the  child  wastes,  to  take  note  whether 
or  no  its  father  is  losing  flesh.  Lastly,  as  regards  the 
hours  at  which  he  came  to  bed,  being  herself  a  sound 
sleeper  Mary  had  long  since  ceased  to  interest  herself 
about  them,  on  the  wise  principle  that  so  long  as  she 
was  not  expected  to  sit  up  it  was  no  affair  of  hers. 

Thus  it  happened  that  Morris  worked  and  meditated 
by  day,  and  by  night  —  ah  !  who  that  has  not  tried  to 
climb  this  difficult  and  endless  Jacob's  ladder  resting 
upon  the  earth  and  losing  itself  far,  far  away  in  the  blue 
heaven  above,  can  understand  what  he  did  by  night  ? 
But  those  who  have  stood  even  on  its  lowest  rung  will 
guess,  and  —  for  the  rest  it  does  not  matter. 

He  advanced ;  he  knew  that  he  advanced,  that  the 
gross  wall  of  sense  was  wearing  thin  beneath  the  attacks 
of  his  out-thrown  soul ;  that  even  if  they  were  not  drawn, 
from  time  to  time  the  black  curtains  swung  aside  in  the 
swift,  pure  breath  of  his  continual  prayers.  Moreover, 
the  dead  drew  near  to  him  at  moments,  or  he  drew  near 
the  dead.  Even  in  his  earthly  brain  he  could  feel  their 
awful  presence  as  wave  by  wave  soft,  sweet  pulses  of 
impression  beat  upon  him  and  passed  through  him. 
Through  and  through  him  they  passed  till  his  brow 
ached,  and  every  nerve  of  his  body  tingled,  as  though  it 
had  become  the  receiver  of  some  mysterious  current 
that  stirred  his  blood  with  what  was  not  akin  to  it,  and 
summoned  to  his  mind  strange  memories  and  foresights. 
Visions  came  also  that  he  could  not  define,  to  slip  from 
his  frantic  grasp  like  wet  sand  through  the  fingers  of 
a  drowning  man.  More  and  more  frequently,  and  with 
an  ever  increasing  completeness,  did  this  unearthly  air, 
blowing  from  a  shore  no  human  foot  has  trod,  breathe 


340  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

through  his  being  and  possess  him,  much  as  some  faint 
wind  which  we  cannot  feel  may  be  seen  to  possess  an 
aspen  tree  so  that  it  turns  white  and  shivers  when  every 
other  natural  thing  is  still.  And  as  that  aspen  turns 
white  and  shivers  in  this  thin,  impalpable  air,  so  did  his 
spirit  blanch  and  quiver  with  joy  and  dread  mingled 
mysteriously  in  the  cup  of  his  expectant  soul. 

Again  and  again  those  sweet,  yet  sickening  waves 
flowed  over  him,  to  leave  him  shaken  and  unnerved. 
At  first  they  were  rare  visitors,  single  clouds  floating 
across  his  calm,  coming  he  knew  not  whence  and  van- 
ishing he  knew  not  whither.  Now  they  drove  in  upon 
him  like  some  scud,  ample  yet  broken,  before  the  wind, 
till  at  whiles,  as  it  were,  he  could  not  see  the  face  of 
the  friendly,  human  sun.  Then  he  was  like  a  traveller 
lost  in  the  mist  upon  a  mountain  top,  sure  of  nothing, 
feeling  precipices  about  him,  hearing  voices  calling  him, 
seeing  white  arms  stretched  out  to  lead  him,  yet  running 
forward  gladly  because  amid  so  many  perils  a  fate  was 
in  his  feet. 

Now,  too,  they  came  with  an  actual  sense  of  wind. 
He  would  wake  up  at  night  even  by  his  wife's  side  and 
feel  this  unholy  breath  blowing  ice-cold  on  his  brow  and 
upon  the  backs  of  his  outstretched  hands.  Yet  if  he  lit 
a  candle  it  had  no  power  to  stir  its  flame;  yes,  while 
it  still  blew  sharp  upon  him  the  flame  of  the  candle 
did  not  move.  Then  the  wind  would  cease,  and  within 
him  the  intangible,  imponderable  power  would  arise, 
and  the  voices  would  speak  like  the  far,  far  murmur  of 
a  stream,  and  the  thoughts  which  he  could  not  weigh  or 
interpret  would  soak  into  his  being  like  some  strange 
dew,  and  soft,  soft  as  falling  snow,  invisible  feet  would 


STELLA    COMES  341 

tread  the  air  about  him,  till  of  a  sudden  a  door  in  his 
brain  seemed  to  shut,  and  he  woke  to  the  world  again. 

Every  force  is  subject  to  laws.  Even  if  they  were 
but  the  emanations  of  an  incipient  madness  which  like 
all  else  have  their  origins,  destinies,  and  forms,  these 
possessing  vapours  were  a  force,  which  in  time  Morris, 
whose  mind  from  a  lifelong  training  was  scientific  and 
methodical,  accustomed,  moreover,  to  struggle  for  do- 
minion over  elements  unknown  or  imperfectly  appreci- 
ated, learned  to  regulate  if  not  entirely  to  control. 
Their  visits  were  pleasant  to  him,  a  delight  even;  but 
to  experience  this  joy  to  the  utmost  he  discovered  that 
their  power  must  be  concentrated ;  that  if  the  full  effect 
was  to  be  produced  this  moral  morphia  must  be  taken 
in  strong  doses,  and  at  stated  intervals,  sufficient  space 
being  allowed  between  them  to  give  his  mental  being 
time  to  recuperate.  Science  has  proved  that  even  the 
molecules  of  a  wire  can  grow  fatigued  by  the  con- 
stant passage  of  electricity,  or  the  edge  of  a  razor  by 
too  frequent  stropping.  Both  of  them,  to  be  effective, 
to  do  their  utmost  service,  must  have  periods  of  rest. 

Here,  then,  his  will  came  to  his  aid,  for  he  found  that  by 
its  strong,  concentrated  exertion  he  was  enabled  both  to 
shut  off  the  sensations  or  to  excite  them.  Another  thing 
he  found  also  —  that  after  a  while  it  was  impossible 
to  do  without  them.  For  a  period  the  anticipation  of 
their  next  visit  would  buoy  him  up ;  but  if  it  were 
baulked  too  long,  then  reaction  set  in,  and  with  it  the 
horrors  of  the  Pit. 

This  was  the  first  stage  of  his  insanity  —  or  of  his 
vision. 

Dear  as  such  manifestations  might  be  to  him,  in  time 


342  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

he  wearied  of  them ;  these  hints  which  but  awakened  his 
imagination,  these  fantastic  spiced  meats  which,  without 
staying  it,  only  sharpened  his  spiritual  appetite.  More 
than  ever  he  longed  to  see  and  to  know,  to  make 
acquaintance  with  the  actual  presence,  whereof  they 
were  but  the  forerunners,  the  cold  blasts  that  go  before 
the  storm,  the  vague,  mystical  draperies  which  veiled 
the  unearthly  goddess  at  whose  shrine  he  was  a  wor- 
shipper. He  desired  the  full  fierce  fury  of  the  tempest, 
the  blinding  flash  of  the  lightning,  the  heavy  hiss  of 
the  rain,  the  rush  of  the  winds  bursting  on  him  from  the 
four  horizons;  he  desired  the  naked  face  of  his  god- 
dess. 

And  she  came  —  or  he  acquired  the  power  to  see  her, 
whichever  it  might  be.  She  came  suddenly,  unexpect- 
edly, completely,  as  a  goddess  should. 

It  was  on  Christmas  Eve,  at  night,  the  anniversary  of 
Stella's  death  four  years  before.  Morris  and  his  wife 
were  alone  at  the  Abbey,  as  the  Colonel  had  gone  for  a 
fortnight  or  so  to  Beaulieu,  just  to  keep  the  house  aired, 
as  he  explained.  Also  Lady  Rawlins  was  there  with  her 
husband,  the  evil-tempered  man  who  by  a  single  stroke 
of  sickness  had  been  converted  into  a  babbling  imbecile, 
harmless  as  a  babe,  and  amused  for  the  most  part  with 
such  toys  as  are  given  to  babes.  She,  so  Morris  under- 
stood, had  intimated  that  Sir  Jonah  was  failing,  really 
failing  quickly,  and  that  in  her  f riendlessness  at  a  foreign 
place,  especially  at  Christmas  time,  she  would  be  thank- 
ful to  have  the  comfort  of  an  old  friend's  presence.  This 
the  old  friend,  who,  having  been  back  from  town  for  a 
whole  month,  was  getting  rather  bored  with  Monksland 


STELLA   COMES  343 

and  the  sick  baby,  determined  to  vouchsafe,  explaining 
that  he  knew  that  young  married  people  liked  to  be 
left  to  each  other  now  and  again,  especially  when  they 
were  worried  with  domestic  troubles.  Lady  Rawlins 
was  foolish  and  fat,  but,  as  the  Colonel  remembered, 
she  was  fond.  Where,  indeed,  could  another  woman 
be  found  who  would  endure  so  much  scientific  discipline 
and  yet  be  thankful  ?  Also,  within  a  few  weeks,  after 
the  expected  demise  of  Jonah,  she  would  be  wondrous 
wealthy — that  he  knew.  Therefore  it  seemed  that 
the  matter  was  worth  consideration  —  and  a  journey 
to  Beaulieu. 

So  the  Colonel  went,  and  Morris,  more  and  more  pos- 
sessed by  his  monomania,  was  glad  that  he  had  gone. 
His  absence  gave  him  greater  opportunities  of  loneli- 
ness ;  it  was  now  no  longer  necessary  that  he  should 
sit  at  night  smoking  with  his  father,  or,  rather,  watch- 
ing him  smoke  at  the  expense  of  so  many  precious 
hours  when  he  should  be  up  and  doing. 

Morris  and  Mary  dined  tete-a-tete  that  evening,  but 
almost  immediately  after  dinner  she  had  gone  to  the 
nurseries.  The  baby  was  now  threatened  with  convul- 
sions, and  a  trained  nurse  had  been  installed.  But,  as 
Mary  did  not  in  the  least  trust  the  nurse,  who,  accord- 
ing to  her  account,  was  quite  unaccustomed  to  children, 
she  insisted  upon  dogging  that  functionary's  footsteps. 
Therefore,  Morris  saw  little  of  her. 

It  was  one  o'clock  on  Christmas  morning,  or  more. 
Hours  ago  Morris  had  gone  through  his  rites,  the  ritual 
that  he  had  invented  or  discovered — in  its  essence,  simple 
and  pathetic  enough  —  whereby  he  strove  to  bring  him- 


344  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

self  to  the  notice  of  the  dead,  and  to  fit  himself  to  see 
or  hear  the  dead.  Such  tentative  mysticism  as  served 
his  turn  need  not  be  written  down,  but  its  substance  can 
be  imagined  by  many.  Then,  through  an  exercise  of  his 
will,  he  had  invoked  the  strange,  trance-like  state  which 
has  been  described.  The  soft  waves  flowing  from  an 
unknown  source  had  beat  upon  his  brain,  and  with 
them  came  the  accustomed  phenomena;  the  sense  of 
some  presence  near,  impending,  yet  impotent;  suggest- 
ing by  analogy  and  effect  the  misdirected  efforts  of  a 
blind  person  seeking  something  in  a  room,  or  the  pain- 
ful attempt  of  one  almost  deaf,  striving  to  sift  out  words 
from  a  confused  murmur  of  sounds.  The  personality 
of  Stella  seemed  to  pervade  him,  yet  he  could  see  noth- 
ing, could  hear  nothing.  The  impression  might  be  from 
within,  not  from  without.  Perhaps,  after  all,  it  was  noth- 
ing but  a  dream,  a  miasma,  a  mirage,  drawn  by  his  own 
burning  thought  from  the  wastes  and  marshes  of  his 
mind  peopled  with  illusive  hopes  and  waterlogged  by 
memories.  Or  it  might  be  true  and  real;  as  yet  he 
could  not  be  certain  of  its  origin. 

The  fit  passed,  delightful  in  its  overpowering  empti- 
ness, but  unsatisfying  as  all  that  had  gone  before  it,  and 
left  him  weak.  For  a  while  Morris  crouched  by  the  fire, 
for  he  had  grown  cold,  and  could  not  think  accurately. 
Then  his  vital,  human  strength  returned,  and,  as  seemed 
to  him  to  be  fitting  upon  this  night  of  all  nights,  he 
began  one  by  one  to  recall  the  events  of  that  day  four 
years  ago,  when  Stella  was  still  a  living  woman. 

The  scene  in  the  Dead  Church,  the  agonies  of  fare- 
well ;  he  summoned  them  detail  by  detail,  word  by 
word;  her  looks,  the  changes  of  her  expression,  the 


STELLA    COMES  345 

movements  of  her  hands  and  eyes  and  lips ;  he  counted 
and  pictured  each  precious  souvenir.  The  sound  of  her 
last  sentences  also,  as  the  blind,  senseless  aerophone 
had  rendered  them  just  before  the  end,  one  by  one  they 
were  repeated  in  his  brain.  There  stood  the  very  instru- 
ment ;  but,  alas !  it  was  silent  now,  its  twin  lay  buried 
in  the  sea  with  her  who  had  worked  it. 

Morris  grew  weary,  the  effort  of  memory  was  exhaust- 
ing ;  and  after  it  he  was  glad  to  think  of  nothing.  The 
fire  flickered,  the  clear  light  of  the  electric  lamps  shone 
upon  the  hard,  sixteenth-century  faces  of  the  painted 
angels  in  the  ancient  roof ;  without  the  wind  soughed, 
and  through  it  rose  the  constant,  sullen  roar  of  the  sea. 

Tired,  disappointed,  unhappy,  and  full  of  self-re- 
proaches, for  when  the  madness  was  not  on  him  he 
knew  his  sin,  Morris  sank  into  a  doze.  Now  music 
crept  softly  into  his  sleep ;  sweet,  thrilling  music,  caus- 
ing him  to  open  his  eyes  and  smile.  It  was  Christmas 
Eve,  and  doubtless  he  heard  the  village  waits. 

Morris  looked  up  arousing  himself  to  listen,  and  lo ! 
there  before  him,  unexpected  and  ineffable,  was  Stella ; 
Stella  as  she  appeared  that  night  on  which  she  had 
sung  to  him,  just  as  she  finished  singing,  indeed,  when 
she  stood  for  a  while  in  the  faint  moonlight,  the  flame 
of  inspiration  still  flickering  in  those  dark  eyes  and  the 
sweet  lips  drawn  down  a  little  as  though  she  were  about 
to  weep. 

The  sight  did  not  astonish  him,  at  the  moment  he 
never  imagined  even  that  this  could  be  her  spirit,  that 
his  long  labours  in  a  soil  no  man  was  meant  to  till  had 
issued  into  harvest.  Surely  it  was  a  dream,  nothing  but 
a  dream.  He  felt  no  tremors,  no  cold  wind  stirred  his 


346  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

hair ;  his  heart  did  not  stand  still,  nor  his  breath  come 
short.  Why  should  a  man  fear  so  beautiful  a  dream  ? 
Yet,  vaguely  enough,  he  wished  that  it  might  last  for- 
ever, for  it  was  sweet  to  see  her  so  —  as  she  had  been. 
As  she  had  been  —  yet,  was  she  ever  thus?  Surely 
some  wand  of  change  had  touched  her.  She  was 
beautiful,  but  had  she  worn  that  beauty  ?  And  those 
eyes !  Could  any  such  have  shone  in  the  face  of 
woman  ? 

"  Stella,"  he  whispered,  and  from  roof  and  walls 
crept  back  the  echo  of  his  voice.  He  rose  and  went 
towards  her.  She  had  vanished.  He  returned,  and  there 
she  was. 

"Speak!"  he  muttered;  "speak!"  But  no  word 
came,  only  the  lovely  changeless  eyes  shone  on  and 
watched  him. 

Listen  !  Music  seemed  to  float  about  the  room,  such 
music  as  he  had  never  heard  —  even  Stella  could  not 
make  the  like.  The  air  was  full  of  it,  the  night  without 
was  full  of  it,  millions  of  voices  took  up  the  chant,  and 
from  far  away,  note  by  note,  mighty  organs  and  silver 
trumpets  told  its  melody. 

His  brain  reeled.  In  the  ocean  of  those  unimagined 
harmonies  it  was  tossed  like  a  straw  upon  a  swirling 
river,  tossed  and  overwhelmed. 

Slowly,  very  slowly,  as  the  straw  might  be  sucked  into 
the  heart  of  a  whirlpool,  his  soul  was  drawn  down  into 
blackness.  It  shuddered,  it  was  afraid ;  this  vision  of 
a  whirlpool  haunted  him.  He  could  see  the  narrow 
funnel  of  its  waters,  smooth,  shining  like  jet,  unspecked 
by  foam,  solid  to  all  appearances ;  but,  as  he  was  aware, 
alive,  every  atom  of  them,  instinct  with  some  frightful 


STELLA   COMES  347 

energy,  the  very  face  of  force  —  and  in  the  teeth  of  it, 
less  than  a  dead  leaf,  himself. 

Down  he  went,  down,  and  still  above  him  shone  the 
beautiful,  pitying,  changeless  eyes ;  and  still  round  him 
echoed  that  strange,  searching  music.  The  eyes  receded, 
the  music  became  faint,  and  then  —  blackness. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
DREAMS  AND  THE  SLEEP 

THE  Christmas  Day  which  followed  this  strange  night 
proved  the  happiest  that  Morris  could  ever  remember  to 
have  spent  since  his  childhood.  In  his  worldly  circum- 
stances of  course  he  was  oppressed  by  none  of  the 
everyday  worries  which  at  this  season  are  the  lot  of 
most  —  no  duns  came  to  trouble  him,  nor  through  lack 
of  means  was  he  obliged  to  turn  any  beggar  from  his 
door.  Also  the  baby  was  much  better,  and  Mary's 
spirits  were  consequently  radiant.  Never,  indeed,  had 
she  been  more  lovely  and  charming  than  when  that 
morning  she  presented  him  with  a  splendid  gold  chro- 
nometer to  take  the  place  of  the  old  silver  watch  which 
was  his  mother's  as  a  girl,  and  that  he  had  worn  all  his 
life.  Secretly  he  sorrowed  over  parting  with  that 
familiar  companion  in  favour  of  its  new  eighty-guinea 
rival,  although  it  was  true  that  it  always  lost  ten  minutes 
a  day,  and  sometimes  stopped  altogether.  But  there 
was  no  help  for  it ;  so  he  kissed  Mary  and  was  grateful. 

Moreover,  the  day  was  beautiful.  In  the  morning 
they  walked  to  church  through  the  Abbey  planta- 
tions, which  run  for  nearly  half  a  mile  along  the  edge 
of  the  cliff.  The  rime  lay  thick  upon  the  pines  and  firs 
—  every  little  needle  had  its  separate  coat  of  white 
whereon  the  sun's  rays  glistened.  The  quiet  sea,  too, 
shone  like  some  gigantic  emerald,  and  in  the  sweet  still- 

348 


DREAMS  AND   THE  SLEEP  349 

ness  the  song  of  a  robin  perched  upon  the  bending 
bough  of  a  young  poplar  sounded  pure  and  clear. 

Yet  it  was  not  this  calm  and  plenty,  this  glittering 
ocean  flecked  with  white  sails,  and  barred  by  delicate 
lines  of  smoke,  this  blue  and  happy  sky,  nor  all  the 
other  good  things  that  were  given  to  him  in  such  abun- 
dance, which  steeped  his  heart  in  Sabbath  rest.  Al- 
though he  sought  no  inspiration  from  such  drugs,  and, 
indeed,  was  a  stranger  to  them,  rather  was  his  joy  the 
joy  of  the  opium-eater  while  the  poison  works ;  the  joy 
of  him  who  after  suffering  long  nights  of  pain  has  found 
their  antidote,  and  perhaps  for  the  first  time  appreciates 
the  worth  of  peace,  however  empty.  His  troubled 
heart  had  ceased  its  striving,  his  wrecked  nerves  were 
still,  his  questionings  had  been  answered,  his  ends  were 
attained ;  he  had  drunk  of  the  divine  cup  which  he 
desired,  and  its  wine  flowed  through  him.  The  dead  had 
visited  him,  and  he  had  tasted  of  the  delight  which  lies 
hid  in  death.  On  that  day  he  felt  as  though  nothing 
could  hurt  him  any  more,  nothing  could  even  move  him. 
The  angry  voices,  the  wars,  the  struggles,  the  question- 
ings —  all  the  things  which  torment  mankind ;  what  did 
they  matter  ?  He  had  forced  the  lock  and  broken  the 
bar ;  if  only  for  a  little  while,  the  door  had  opened,  and 
he  had  seen  that  which  he  desired  to  see  and  sought 
with  all  his  soul,  and  with  the  wondrous  harvest  of  this 
pure,  inhuman  passion,  that  owes  nothing  to  sex,  or  time, 
or  earth,  he  was  satisfied  at  last. 

"  Why  did  you  look  so  strange  in  church  ? "  asked 
Mary  as  they  walked  home,  and  her  voice  echoed  in  the 
spaces  of  his  void  mind  as  words  echo  in  an  empty  hall. 

His  thoughts  were  wandering  far,  and  with  difficulty 


350  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

he  drew  them  back,  as  birds  tied  by  the  foot  are  drawn 
back  and,  still  fluttering  to  be  free,  brought  home  to  the 
familiar  cage. 

"  Strange,  dear? "  he  answered;  "  did  I  look  strange  ? " 

"  Yes ;  like  a  man  in  a  dream  or  the  face  of  a  saint 
being  comfortably  martyred  in  a  picture.  Morris,  I  be- 
lieve that  you  are  not  well.  I  will  speak  to  the  doctor. 
He  must  give  you  a  tonic,  or  something  for  your  liver. 
Really,  to  see  you  and  that  old  mummy  Mr.  Fregelius 
staring  at  each  other  while  he  murmured  away  about 
the  delights  of  the  world  to  come,  and  how  happy  we 
ought  to  be  at  the  thought  of  getting  there,  made  me 
feel  quite  uncomfortable." 

"  Why  ?     Why,  dear  ? "  asked  Morris,  vacantly. 

"  Why  ?  Because  the  old  man  with  his  pale  face  and 
big  eyes  looked  more  like  an  astral  body  than  a  healthy 
human  being ;  if  I  met  him  in  his  surplice  at  night,  I 
should  think  he  was  a  ghost,  and  upon  my  word,  you 
are  catching  the  same  expression.  That  comes  of  your 
being  so  much  together.  Do  be  a  little  more  human 
and  healthy.  Lose  your  temper;  swear  at  the  cook  like 
your  father;  admire  Jane  Rose's  pretty  bonnet,  or  her 
pretty  face;  take  to  horse-racing,  do  anything  that  is 
natural,  even  if  it  is  wicked.  Anything  that  doesn't 
make  one  think  of  graves,  and  stars,  and  infinities,  and 
souls  who  died  last  night ;  of  all  of  which  no  doubt  we 
shall  have  plenty  in  due  season." 

"  All  right,  dear,"  answered  Morris,  with  a  fine  access 
of  forced  cheerfulness,  "  we  will  have  some  champagne 
for  dinner  and  play  picquet  after  it." 

"  Champagne !  What's  the  use  of  champagne  when 
you  only  pretend  to  drink  it  and  fill  up  the  glass  with 


DREAMS  AND   THE  SLEEP  351 

soda-water  ?  Picquet !  You  hate  it,  and  so  do  I ;  and  it 
is  silly  losing  large  sums  of  money  to  each  other  which 
we  never  mean  to  pay.  That  isn't  the  real  thing,  there's 
no  life  in  that.  Oh,  Morris,  if  you  love  me,  do  cultivate 
some  human  error.  It  is  terrible  to  have  a  husband 
in  whom  there  is  nothing  to  reform." 

"  I  will  try,  love,"  said  Morris,  earnestly. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  with  a  gloomy  shake  of  the  head, 
"  but  you  won't  succeed.  When  Mrs.  Roberts  told  me 
the  other  day  that  she  was  afraid  her  husband  was 
taking  to  drink  because  he  went  out  walking  too  often 
with  that  pretty  widow  from  North  Cove  —  the  one 
with  the  black  and  gold  bonnet  whom  they  say  things 
about  —  I  answered  that  I  quite  envied  her,  and  she 
didn't  in  the  least  understand  what  I  meant.  But  I 
understand,  although  I  can't  express  myself." 

"I  give  up  the  drink,"  said  Morris;  "it  disagrees; 
but  perhaps  you  might  introduce  me  to  the  widow. 
She  seems  rather  attractive." 

"  I  will,"  answered  Mary,  stamping  her  foot.  "  She's  a 
horrid,  vulgar  little  thing;  but  I'll  ask  her  to  tea,  or  to 
stay,  and  anything,  if  she  can  only  make  you  look  rather 
less  disembodied." 

That  night  the  champagne  appeared,  and,  feeling  his 
wife's  eyes  upon  him,  Morris  swallowed  two  whole  glasses, 
and  in  consequence  was  quite  cheerful,  for  he  had  eaten 
little  —  circumstances  under  which  champagne  exhila- 
rates—  for  a  little  while.  Then  they  went  into  the 
drawing-room  and  talked  themselves  into  silence  about 
nothing  in  particular,  after  which  Morris  began  to  wander 
round  the  room  and  contemplate  the  furniture  as  though 
he  had  never  seen  it  before. 


352  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

"  What  are  you  fidgeting  about  ? "  asked  Mary. 
"  Morris,  you  remind  me  of  somebody  who  wants  to 
slip  away  to  an  assignation,  which  in  your  case  is  absurd. 
I  wish  your  father  were  back,  I  really  do ;  I  should  be 
glad  to  listen  to  his  worst  and  longest  story.  It  isn't 
often  that  I  sit  with  you,  so  it  would  be  kinder  if  you 
didn't  look  so  bored.  I'm  cross;  I'm  going  to  bed.  I 
hope  you  will  spend  a  pleasant  night  in  the  chapel  with 
your  thoughts  and  your  instruments  and  the  ghosts  of 
the  old  Abbots.  But  please  come  into  my  room  quietly ; 
I  don't  like  being  woke  up  after  three  in  the  morning, 
as  I  was  yesterday."  And  she  went,  slamming  the  door 
behind  her. 

Morris  went  also  with  hanging  head  and  guilty  step 
to  his  accustomed  haunt  in  the  old  chapel.  He  knew 
that  he  was  doing  wrong ;  he  could  sympathise  with 
Mary's  indignation.  Yet  he  was  unable  to  resist,  he 
must  see  again,  must  drink  once  more  of  that  heavenly 
cup. 

And  he  failed.  Was  it  the  champagne?  Was  it 
Mary's  sharp  words  which  had  ruffled  him  ?  Was  it 
that  he  had  not  allowed  time  enough  for  the  energy 
which  came  from  him  enabling  her  to  appear  before  his 
mortal  eyes,  to  gather  afresh  in  the  life-springs  of  his 
own  nature  ?  Or  was  she  also  angry  with  him  ? 

At  least  he  failed.  The  waves  came  indeed,  and  the 
cold  wind  blew,  but  there  was  no  sound  of  music,  and 
no  vision.  Again  and  again  he  strove  to  call  it  up  —  to 
fancy  that  he  saw.  It  was  useless,  and  at  last,  weary, 
broken,  but  filled  with  a  mad  irritation  such  as  might 
be  felt  by  a  hungry  man  who  sees  food  which  he  cannot 
touch,  or  by  a  jealous  lover  who  beholds  her  that  should 


DREAMS  AND   THE  SLEEP  353 

have  been  his  bride  take  another  husband  before  his 
eyes,  he  crept  away  to  such  rest  as  he  could  win. 

He  awoke,  ill,  wretched,  and  unsatisfied,  but  wisdom 
had  come  to  him  with  sleep.  He  must  not  fail  again, 
it  was  too  wearing ;  he  must  prepare  himself  according 
to  the  rules  which  he  had  laid  down.  Also  he  must  con- 
ciliate his  wife,  so  that  she  did  not  speak  angrily  to  him, 
and  thus  disturb  his  calm  of  mind.  Broken  waters  mirror 
nothing ;  if  his  soul  was  to  be  the  glass  in  which  that 
beloved  spirit  might  appear,  it  must  be  still  and  undis- 
turbed. If  ?  Then  was  she  built  up  in  his  imagination, 
or  did  he  really  see  her  with  his  eyes  ?  He  could  not  tell, 
and  after  all  it  mattered  little  so  long  as  he  did  see  her. 

He  grew  cunning  —  in  such  circumstances  a  common 
symptom  —  affecting  a  "  bonhomie,"  a  joviality  of  de- 
meanour indeed,  which  was  rather  overdone.  He 
suggested  that  Mary  should  ask  some  people  to  tea, 
and  twice  he  went  out  shooting,  a  sport  which  he  had 
almost  abandoned.  Only  when  she  wanted  to  invite 
certain  guests  to  stay,  he  demurred  a  little,  on  account 
of  the  baby,  but  so  cleverly  that  she  never  suspected 
him  of  being  insincere.  In  short,  as  he  could  attain 
his  unholy  end  in  no  other  way,  Morris  entered  on  a 
career  of  mild  deception,  designed  to  prevent  his  wife 
from  suspecting  him  of  she  knew  not  what.  His  con- 
duct was  that  of  a  man  engaged  in  an  intrigue.  In  his 
case,  however,  the  possible  end  of  his  ill-doing  was  not 
the  divorce  court,  but  an  asylum,  or  so  some  observers 
would  have  anticipated.  Yet  did  man  ever  adore  a 
mistress  so  fatal  and  destroying  as  this  poor  shadow  of 
the  dead  which  he  desired  ? 

It  was  not  until  New  Year's  Eve  that  Stella  came 


354  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

again.  Once  more  enervated  and  exhausted  by  the 
waves,  Morris  sank  into  a  doze  whence,  as  before,  he 
was  awakened  by  the  sound  of  heavenly  music  to  which, 
on  this  night,  was  added  the  scent  of  perfume.  Then 
he  opened  his  eyes  — to  behold  Stella.  As  she  had  been 
at  first,  so  she  was  now,  only  more  lovely  —  a  hundred 
times  lovelier  than  the  imagination  can  paint,  or  the 
pen  can  tell.  Here  was  nothing  pale  or  deathlike,  no 
sheeted,  melancholy  spectre,  but  a  radiant  being  whose 
garment  was  the  light,  and  whose  eyes  glowed  like  the 
heart  of  some  deep  jewel.  About  her  rolled  a  vision 
of  many  colours,  such  hues  as  the  rainbow  has  fell  upon 
her  face  and  feet  and  hair.  And  yet  it  was  the  same 
Stella  that  he  had  known  made  perfect  and  spiritual 
and,  beyond  all  imagining,  divine. 

Once  more  he  addressed  —  implored  her,  and  once 
more  no  answer  came;  nor  did  her  face  change,  or  that 
wondrous  smile  pass  from  her  lips  into  the  gravity  of 
her  eyes.  This,  at  least,  was  sure;  either  that  she  no 
longer  had  any  understanding  knowledge  of  his  earthly 
tongue  or  that  its  demonstration  was  to  her  a  thing 
forbidden.  What  was  she  then  ?  That  double  of  the 
body  which  the  old  Egyptians  called  the  Ka,  or  the 
soul  itself,  the  Trvevfjia,  no  eidolon,  but  the  immortal  ego, 
clothed  in  human  semblance  made  divine  ? 

Why  was  there  no  answer  ?  Because  his  speech  was 
too  gross  for  her  to  hearken  to  ?  Why  did  she  not 
speak  ?  Because  his  ears  were  deaf  ?  Was  this  an 
illusion  ?  No !  a  thousand  times.  When  he  approached 
she  vanished,  but  what  of  it?  He  was  mortal,  she  a 
spirit ;  they  might  not  mix. 

Yet  in  her  own  method  she  did  speak,  spoke  to  his 


DREAMS  AND   THE  SLEEP  355 

soul,  bidding  the  scales  fall  from  its  eyes  so  that  it 
might  see.  And  it  saw  what  human  imagination  could 
not  fashion.  Behold  those  gardens,  those  groves  that 
hang  upon  the  measureless  mountain  face,  and  the 
white  flowers  which  droop  in  tresses  from  the  dark 
bough  of  yonder  towering  poplar  tree,  and  the  jewelled 
serpent  nestling  at  its  root. 

Oh!  they  are  gone,  and  when  the  flame-eyed  Figure 
smote,  the  vast,  barring,  precipices  fall  apart  and  the 
road  is  smooth  and  open. 

How  far  ?  A  million  miles  ?  No,  twenty  thousand 
millions.  Look,  yonder  shines  the  destined  Star;  now 
come  !  So,  it  is  reached.  Nay,  do  not  stop  to  stare. 
Look  again !  out  through  utter  space  to  where  the  low 
light  glows.  So,  come  once  more.  The  suns  float  past 
like  windblown  golden  dust  —  like  the  countless  lamps 
of  boats  upon  the  bosom  of  a  summer  sea.  There,  be- 
neath, lies  the  very  home  of  Power.  Those  springing 
sparks  of  light?  They  are  the  ineffable  Decrees  pass- 
ing outward  through  infinity.  That  sound  ?  It  is  the 
voice  of  worlds  which  worship. 

Look  now  !  Out  yonder  see  the  flaming  gases  gather 
and  cohere.  They  burn  out  and  the  great  globe  blackens. 
Cool  mists  wrap  it,  rains  fall,  seas  collect,  continents 
arise.  There  is  life,  behold  it,  various  and  infinite. 
And  hearken  to  the  whisper  of  this  great  universe,  one 
tiny  note  in  that  song  of  praise  you  heard  but  now. 
Yes,  the  life  dies,  the  ball  grows  black  again  ;  it  is  the 
carcase  of  a  world.  How  long  have  you  watched  it  ? 
For  an  hour,  a  breath;  but,  as  you  judge  time,  some 
ten  thousand  million  years.  Sleep  now,  you  are  weary ; 
later  you  shall  understand. 


356  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

Thus  the  wraith  of  Stella  spoke  to  his  soul  in  visions. 
Presently,  with  drumming  ears  and  eyes  before  which 
strange  lights  seemed  to  play,  Morris  staggered  from 
the  place,  so  weak,  indeed,  that  he  could  scarcely  thrust 
one  foot  before  the  other.  Yet  his  heart  was  filled  with 
a  mad  joy,  and  his  brain  was  drunken  with  the  deep 
cup  of  a  delight  and  a  knowledge  that  have  seldom 
been  given  to  man. 

On  other  nights  the  visions  were  different.  Thus  he 
saw  the  spirits  of  men  going  out  and  returning,  and 
among  them  his  own  slumbering  spirit  that  a  vast  and 
shadowy  Stella  bore  in  her  arms  as  a  mother  bears  a 
babe. 

He  saw  also  the  Vision  of  Numbers.  All  the  infinite 
inhabitants  of  all  the  infinite  worlds  passed  before  him, 
marching  through  the  ages  to  some  end  unknown. 
Once,  too,  his  mind  was  opened,  and  he  understood  the 
explanation  of  Evil  and  the  Reason  of  Things.  He 
shouted  at  their  glorious  simplicity  —  shouted  with  joy ; 
but  lo  !  before  he  rose  from  his  chair  they  were  forgotten. 

Other  visions  there  were  without  count.  Also  they 
would  mix  and  fall  into  new  patterns,  like  the  bits  of 
glass  in  a  kaleidoscope.  There  was  no  end  to  them, 
and  each  was  lovelier,  or  grander,  or  fraught  with  a 
more  sweet  entrancement,  than  the  last.  And  still 
she  who  brought  them,  she  who  opened  his  eyes,  who 
caused  his  ears  to  hear  and  his  soul  to  see;  she  whom  he 
worshipped ;  his  heart's  twin,  she  who  had  sworn  her- 
self to  him  on  earth,  and  was  there  waiting  to  fulfil 
the  oath  to  all  eternity ;  the  woman  who  had  become  a 
spirit,  that  spirit  that  had  taken  the  shape  of  a  woman 
• — there  she  stood  and  smiled  and  changed,  and  yet  was 


DREAMS  AND   THE  SLEEP  357 

changeless.  And  oh  !  what  did  it  matter  if  his  life  was 
draining  from  him,  and  oh !  to  die  at  those  glittering 
feet,  with  that  perfumed  breath  stirring  in  his  hair ! 
What  did  he  seek  more  when  Death  would  be  the  great 
immortal  waking,  when  from  twilight  he  passed  out  to 
light  ?  What  more  when  in  that  dawn,  awful  yet  smil- 
ing, she  should  be  his  and  he  hers,  and  they  twain 
would  be  one,  with  thought  that  answered  thought, 
since  it  was  the  same  thought? 

There  is  much  that  might  be  told  —  enough  to  fill 
many  pages.  It  would  be  easy,  for  instance,  to  set  out 
long  lists  of  the  entrancing  dreams  which  were  the  soul 
speech  of  the  spirit  of  Stella,  and  to  some  extent,  to 
picture  them.  Also  the  progress  of  the  possession  of 
Morris  might  be  described  and  the  student  of  his  history 
shown,  step  by  step,  how  the  consummation  that  in  her 
life  days  Stella  had  feared,  overtook  him;  how  "the  thing 
got  the  mastery  of  him,"  and  he  became  "unfitted  for 
his  work  on  earth!"  How,  too,  his  body  wasted  and 
his  spiritual  part  developed,  till  every  physical  sight 
and  deed  became  a  cause  of  irritation  to  his  new  nature, 
and  at  times  even  a  source  of  active  suffering. 

Thus  an  evil  odour,  the  spectacle  of  pain,  the  cry  of 
grief,  the  sight  of  the  carcases  of  dead  animals,  to 
take  a  few  examples  out  of  very  many,  were  agonies 
to  his  abnormal,  exasperated  nerves.  Nor  did  it  stop 
there,  since  the  misfortune  which  threatened  Stella  when 
at  length  she  had  succeeded  in  becoming  bodily  con- 
scious of  the  presence  of  the  eidolon  of  her  sister,  and 
"  heard  discords  among  the  harmonies "  of  the  rich 
music  of  her  violin,  overtook  him  also. 


358  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

Thus,  for  instance,  in  the  scent  of  the  sweetest  rose 
at  times  Morris  would  discover  something  frightful ; 
even  the  guise  of  tender  childhood  ceased  to  be  lovely 
in  his  eyes,  for  now  he  could  see  and  feel  the  budding 
human  brute  beneath.  Worse  still,  his  beautiful  com- 
panion, Mary,  fair  and  gracious  as  she  was,  became 
almost  repulsive  to  him,  so  that  he  shrank  from  her  as 
in  common  life  some  delicate-nurtured  man  might  shrink 
from  a  full-bodied,  coarse-tongued  young  fishwife. 
Even  her  daily  need  of  food,  which  was  healthy 
though  not  excessive,  disgusted  him  to  witness,  —  he 
who  was  out  of  touch  with  all  wholesome  appetites  of 
earth,  whose  distorted  nature  sought  an  alien  rest  and 
solace. 

Of  Mary  herself  also,  it  might  be  narrated  how,  after 
first  mocking  at  the  thought  and  next  thrusting  it  away, 
by  degrees  she  grew  to  appreciate  the  reality  of  the 
mysterious  foreign  influence  which  reigned  in  her  home. 
It  might  be  told  how  in  that  spiritual  atmosphere,  shed- 
ding its  sleepy  indolence,  her  own  spirit  awoke  and 
grew  conscious  and  far-seeing,  till  impressions  and  hints 
which  in  the  old  days  she  would  have  set  aside  as  idle, 
became  for  her  pregnant  with  light  and  meaning. 
Then  at  last  her  eyes  were  opened,  and  understanding 
much  and  guessing  more  she  began  to  watch.  The  atti- 
tude of  the  Colonel  also  could  be  studied,  and  how  he 
grew  first  suspicious,  then  sarcastic,  and  at  last  thor- 
oughly alarmed,  even  to  his  ultimate  evacuation  of  the 
Abbey  House,  detailed  at  length. 

But  to  the  chronicler  of  these  doings  and  of  their  un- 
usual issues  at  any  rate,  it  appears  best  to  resist  a  natu- 
ral temptation ;  to  deny  the  desire  to  paint  such  closing 


DREAMS  AND   THE  SLEEP  359 

scenes  in  petto.  Much  more  does  this  certainty  hold 
of  their  explanation.  Enough  has  been  said  to  enable 
those  in  whom  the  spark  of  understanding  may  burn,  to 
discover  by  its  light  how  much  is  left  unsaid.  Enough 
has  been  hinted  at  to  teach  how  much  there  is  still  to 
guess.  At  least  few  will  deny  that  some  things  are  best 
abandoned  to  the  imagination.  To  attempt  to  drag  the 
last  veil  from  the  face  of  Truth  in  any  of  her  thousand 
shapes  is  surely  a  folly  predoomed  to  failure.  From 
the  beginning  she  has  been  a  veiled  divinity,  and  veiled, 
however  thinly,  she  must  and  will  remain.  Also,  even 
were  it  possible  thus  to  rob  her,  would  not  her  bared 
eyes  frighten  us  ? 

It  was  late,  very  late,  and  there,  pale  and  haggard  in 
the  low  light  of  the  fire,  once  again  Morris  stood  plead- 
ing with  the  radiant  image  which  his  heart  revealed. 

"  Oh,  speak !  speak !  "  he  moaned  aloud.  "  I  weary  of 
those  pictures.  They  are  too  vast ;  they  crush  me.  I 
grow  weak.  I  have  no  strength  to  fight  against  the 
power  of  this  fearful  life  that  is  discovered.  I  can- 
not bear  this  calm  everlasting  life.  It  sucks  out  my 
mortality  as  mists  are  sucked  up  by  the  sun.  Become 
human.  Speak.  Let  me  touch  your  hand.  Or  be 
angry.  Only  cease  smiling  that  awful  smile,  and  take 
those  solemn  eyes  out  of  my  heart.  Oh,  my  darling, 
my  darling !  remember  that  I  am  still  a  man.  In  pity 
answer  me  before  I  die." 

Then  a  low  and  awful  cry,  and  Morris  turned  to 
behold  Mary  his  wife.  At  last  she  had  seen  and  heard, 
and  read  his  naked  heart.  At  last  she  knew  him  — 


360  STELLA  FREGELIUS 

mad,  and  in  his  madness  most  unfaithful  —  a  man  who 
loved  one  dead  and  dragged  her  down  to  earth  for 
company. 

Look !  there  in  his  charmed  and  secret  sight  stood  the 
spirit,  and  there,  over  against  her,  the  mortal  woman, 
and  he  —  wavering  —  he  lost  between  the  two. 

Certainly  he  had  been  sick  a  long  while,  since  the 
sun-ray  touched  the  face  of  the  old  abbot  carved  in  that 
corner  of  the  room  to  support  the  hammer  beam.  This, 
as  he  had  known  from  a  child,  only  chanced  at  mid- 
summer. Mary  was  bending  over  him,  but  he  was  as- 
tonished to  find  that  he  could  sit  up  and  move.  Surely, 
then,  his  mind  must  have  been  more  ill  than  his  body. 

"  Hush ! "  she  said,  "  drink  this,  dear,  and  go  to 
sleep." 

It  was  a  week  after,  and  Morris  had  told  her  all,  the 
kind  and  gentle  wife  who  was  so  good  to  him,  who 
understood  and  could  even  smile  as  he  explained,  in 
faltering,  shame-heavy  words.  And  he  had  sworn  for 
her  sake  and  his  children's  sake,  that  he  would  put  away 
this  awful  traffic,  and  seek  such  fellowship  no  more. 

Nor  for  six  months  did  he  seek  it ;  not  till  the  winter 
returned.  Then,  when  his  body  was  strong  again,  the 
ravening  hunger  of  his  soul  overcame  him,  and,  lest  he 
should  go  mad  or  die  of  longing,  Morris  broke  his  oath 
—  as  she  was  sure  he  would. 

One  night  Mary  missed  her  husband  from  her  side, 
and  creeping  down  in  the  grey  of  the  morning,  she  found 
him  sitting  in  his  chair  in  the  chapel  workshop,  smiling 
strangely,  but  cold  and  dead.  Then  her  heart  seemed  to 


DREAMS  AND   THE  SLEEP  361 

break,  for  she  loved  him.  Yet,  remembering  her  prom- 
ises, and  the  dust  whereof  he  was  made,  and  the  fate  to 
which  he  had  been  appointed,  she  forgave  him  all. 

The  search  renewed,  or  the  fruit  of  some  fresh  discov- 
ery —  what  he  sought  or  what  he  saw,  who  knows  ?  — 
had  killed  him. 

Or  perhaps  Stella  had  seemed  to  speak  at  last  and 
the  word  he  heard  her  say  was  Come  ! 

This,  then,  is  the  end  of  the  story  of  Stella  Fregelius 
upon  earth,  and  this  the  writing  on  a  leaf  torn  from  the 
book  of  three  human  destinies.  Remember,  only  one 
leaf. 


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'•  Capital  short  stories  of  France,  written  in  Mr.  Weyman's  well-known 
vein." — OUTLOOK,  NEW  YORK. 

'*  .  .  .  The  tales  and  episodes  are  all  so  good  that  it  is  hardly  fair  to 
Mr.  Weyman  to  say  some  are  better  than  others." — TIMES,  BOSTON. 

"...  About  this  author's  stories  there  is  a  dash,  and  a  nerve,  and  a 
swing,  and  a  '  go '  that  no  other  surpasses  though  he  has  many  imitators.  .  .  . 
The  opening  story,  '  Flore,'  is  marvelously  intense  in  plot,  and  its  execution, 
with  a  play  of  action  and  incident  and  thrilling  situation  that  is  incessant.  Every 
story  in  the  book,  for  that  matter,  is  a  masterpiece." — COMMERCIAL,  BUFFALO. 

"The  twelve  stories  .  .  .  are  full  of  that  romantic  charm  which  he  has 
communicated  to  his  more  elaborate  works  of  historical  fiction.  .  .  .  His 
historical  portraits  are  never  overdone,  they  are  always  sketched  with  equal 
restraint  and  precision.  The  book  is  abundantly  entertaining." 

— NEW  YORK  TRIBUNE. 

"  Stanley  Weyman  was  the  leader  in  the  general  revival  of  the  historical  and 
romantic  novel,  and  he  is  still  one  of  the  best  writers  in  this  field.  .  .  .  'In 
Kings'  Byways'  are  stories  of  different  periods,  but  Mr.  Weyman  is  always  at 
his  best  when  dealing  with  Henry  of  Navarre  or  the  generation  just  before.  In 
his  hands  Old  France  lives  again,  picturesque  and  absorbing.  All  these  stories 
.  .  .  are  finished,  artistic  and  gracefully  told.  The  novelette  '  For  the 
Cause'  is  probably  the  most  powerful  thing  Mr.  Weyman  has  ever  written." 

— NEW  YORK  WORLD. 

"...  Mr.  Weyman's  latest  book,  '  In  Kings'  Byways,'  is  inevitably  of 
the  class  that  entertains.  And  that  it  does  entertain  is  sufficient  justification  fur 
its  writing."— TRANSCRIPT,  BOSTON. 

"It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  these  tales  are  worth  the  reading.  They  re- 
late with  a  quality  that  cannot  be  denied  the  highest  praise,  tales  of  love  and 
war  and  court  and  highway.  Not  one  of  them  is  dull,  not  one  to  be  passed  over 
as  not  worthy  of  attention.  All  are  dramatic,  all  good  in  form,  and  if  one  must 
be  selected  from  out  the  rest  as  best,  'The  House  on  the  Wall'  is  chosen." 

— COURIER-JOURNAL,  LOUISVILLE,  KY. 


LONGMANS,  GREEN,  &  CO.,  91-93  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YO^lK 


COUNT  HANNIBAL 

A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  COURT  OF  FRANCE 

BY  STANLEY  J.  WEYMAN 

AUTHOR  OF  "A  GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE,"  "UNDER  THE  RED  ROBE," 
"THE  CASTLE  INN,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


With  Frontispiece.    Crown  Svo,  cloth,  ornamental,  $1  .SO 

"  It  is  very  seldom  that  one  runs  across  a  historical  novel  the  plot  of  which  is 
so  ably  sustained,  the  characters  so  strongly  drawn,  the  local  color  or  atmosphere 
so  satisfactory.  .  .  .  '  Count  Hannibal '  is  the  strongest  and  most  interest- 
ing novel  as  yet  written  by  this  popular  author." — BOSTON  TIMES. 

"  Stanley  J.  Weyman  has  had  hundreds  of  imitators  since  he  wrote  'A  Gen- 
tleman of  France,'  but  no  man  has  yet  surpassed  him.  I  know  of  no  book  in 
the  whole  list  of  popular  favorites  that  holds  one's  interest  more  intensely  or 
moie  continuously  than  '  Count  Hannibal '  does.  And  what  an  insistent,  throat- 
gripping  interest  it  is ! 

What  is  the  use  of  hoping  for  a  decadence  of  the  craze  for  historical 
romances  so  long  as  the  public  is  fed  on  books  like  this  ?  Such  a  story  has  zest 
for  the  most  jaded  palate  ;  nay,  it  can  hold  the  interest  even  of  a  book  reviewer. 
From  the  first  page  to  the  last  there  is  not  a  moment  when  one's  desire  to  finish 
the  book  weakens.  Along  with  the  ordinary  interest  of  curiosity  there  goes  that 
of  a  delightful  and  unique  love  story  involving  no  little  skill  in  character  deline- 
ation."— RECORD- HERALD,  CHICAGO. 

"  A  spirited,  tersely  interesting  and  most  vivid  story  of  scenes  and  incidents 
and  portrayals  of  various  characters  that  lived  and  fought  and  bled  in  the  lurid 
days  that  saw  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew.  .  .  .  This  is  Mr.  Weyman 's 
most  graphic  and  realistic  novel." — PICAYUNE,  NEW  ORLEANS. 

"  Mr.  Weyman  has  surpassed  himself  in  'Count  Hannibal.'  The  scene  of 
the  story  is  laid  chiefly  in  Paris,  at  the  time  of  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholo- 
mew. .  .  .  We  are  made  to  grasp  the  soul  of  Count  Hannibal  and  are  tacitly 
asked  to  let  its  envelope  take  care  of  itself.  .  .  .  Never  has  Mr.  Weyman 
achieved,  in  fact,  a  higher  degree  of  verisimilitude.  Count  Hannibal  may  leave 
us  breathless  with  his  despotic  methods,  but  he  is  not  abnormal ;  he  is  one  of  the 
Frenchmen  who  shared  the  temper  which  made  the  St.  Bartholomew,  and  he  is  in- 
tensely human  too  .  .  .  how  the  tangle  of  events  in  which  he  and  half  a 
dozen  others  are  involved  is  straightened  out  we  refrain  from  disclosing.  The 
reader  who  once  takes  up  this  book  will  want  to  find  all  this  out  for  himself." 

— NEW  YORK  TRIBUNE. 

"A  story  in  Mr.  Weyman's  best  vein,  with  the  crimson  horror  of  St.  Bar- 
tholomew as  an  historical  setting.  '  Count  Hannibal '  is  a  worthy  companion  of 
1  A  Gentleman  of  France  '  and  '  The  Red  Cockade,"  and  Mr.  Weyman's  hand  is 
as  cunning  as  ever  in  fashioning  a  romance  which  will  send  a  thrill  through  the 
most  jaded  reader  and  keep  even  a  reviewer  from  his  bed. " 

— BOOKMAN,  LONDON. 

"  The  book  is  rapid,  is  absorbing,  and  the  hero  is  a  distinctly  interesting 
character  in  himself,  apart  from  his  deeds  of  daring. " — ATHENAEUM  . 

"  Mr.  Stanley  Weyman's  '  Count  Hannibal '  is  fully  worthy  of  his  great  repu- 
tation— the  style  is  brilliant,  easy  and  clear ;  the  invention  of  subject  and  the 
turns  of  fortune  in  the  story  surprising;  above  all,  the  subtle  painting  of  a  man 
and  a  woman's  heart  is  done  with  inexhaustible  knowledge." — GUARDIAN. 

"  A  picturesque  and  vigorous  romance.  The  narrative  will  be  followed  with 
breathless  interest." — TIMES,  LONDON. 


LONGMANS,  GBEEN,  &  00,,  91-93  KTTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK, 


SOPHIA 


BY  STANLEY  J.  WEYMAN 

AUTHOR  OF  "A  GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE,"  "UNDER  THE  RED  KOBE,"  ITC. 


With  12  Illustrations  by  C.  Hammond.    Crown  8vo,  cloth, 
ornamental,  S1.50. 


"  Mr.  Weyman's  new  romance  illustrates  the  types  and  manners  of  fashion- 
able London  society  in  the  year  1742.  In  everything  that  means  the  revival  of 
an  historical  atmosphere  it  is  skilful,  and,  on  the  whole,  just.  The  characters 
also  are  well  realized.  .  .  .  '  Sophia  '  is  a  decidedly  interesting1  novel.  .  .  . 
The  tale  moves  swiftly,  hurrying  on  from  the  town  to  the  heath,  from  hatred  to 
love,  from  imprisonment  on  bread  and  water  to  diamonds  .  .  .  and  a  dozen 
other  things.  Sophia,  the  heroine,  is  a  bundle  of  girlish  foolishness  and  charms. 
'Sophia,'  the  book,  is  a  bundle  of  more  or  less  extraordinary  episodes  woven 
into  a  story  in  the  most  beguiling  manner."— NEW  YORK  TRIBUNE,  April,  1900. 

"It  is  a  good,  lively,  melodramatic  story  of  love  and  adventure  .  .  .  it  is 
safe  to  say  that  nobody  who  reads  the  lively  episode  in  the  first  chapter  will 
leave  the  book  unfinished,  because  there  is  not  a  moment's  break  in  the  swift 
and  dramatic  narrative  until  the  last  page.  .  .  .  The  dramatic  sequence  is 
nearly  faultless."— TRIBUNE,  CHICAGO. 

"Sophia,  with  her  mistakes,  her  adventures,  and  her  final  surrender;  Sophia 
moving  among  the  eighteenth  century  world  of  fashion  at  Vauxhall ;  Sophia  fly- 
ing through  the  country  roads,  pursued  by  an  adventurer,  and  Sophia  captured 
by  her  husband,  transport  one  so  far  from  this  work-a-day  life  that  the  reader 
comes  back  surprised  to  find  that  this  prosaic  world  is  still  here  after  that  too- 
brief  excursion  into  the  realm  of  fancy." 

—NEW  YORK  COMMERCIAL  ADVERTISER. 

"The  gem  of  the  book  is  its  description  of  the  long  coach-ride  made  by 
Sophia  to  Sir  Hervey's  home  in  Sussex,  the  attempt  made  by  highwaymen  to 
rob  her,  and  her  adventures  at  the  paved  ford  and  in  the  house  made  silent  by 
smallpox,  where  she  took  refuge.  Tnis  section  of  the  story  is  almost  as  breath- 
less as  Smollett.  ...  In  the  general  firmness  of  touch,  and  sureness  of 
historic  portrayal,  the  book  deserves  high  praise."— BUFFALO  EXPRESS. 

" '  Sophia '  contains,  in  its  earlier  part,  a  series  of  incidents  that  is,  we  believe, 
the  most  ingenious  yet  planned  by  its  author.  .  .  .  The  adventure  develops 
and  grows,  the  tension  increases  with  each  page,  to  such  an  extent  that  the 
hackneyed  adjective,  'breathless,'  finds  an  appropriate  place." 

—NEW  YORK  MAIL  AND  EXPRESS. 

" '  Sophia,'  his  latest,  is  also  one  of  his  best.  A  delightful  spirit  of  adventure 
hangs  about  the  story ;  something  interesting  happens  in  every  chapter.  The 
admirable  ease  of  style,  the  smooth  and  natural  dialogue,  the  perfect  adjust- 
ment of  events  and  sequences  conceal  all  the  usual  obtiusive  mechanism,  and 
hold  the  curiosity  of  the  reader  throughout  the  development  of  an  excellent  plot 
and  genuine  people."— PUBLIC  LEDGER,  PHILADELPHIA,  PA. 

"  Those  who  read  Mr.  Stanley  J.  Weyman's  '  Castle  Inn  '  with  delight,  will 
find  in  his  '  Sophia  '  an  equally  brilliant  performance,  in  which  they  are  intro- 
duced to  another  part  of  the  Georgian  era.  .  .  .  Mr.  Weyman  knows  the 
eighteenth  century  from  top  to  bottom,  and  could  any  time  be  more  suitable 
for  the  writer  of  romance  ?  .  .  .  There  is  only  one  way  to  define  the  subtle 
charm  and  distinction  of  this  book,  and  that  is  to  say  that  it  deserves  a  place  on 
the  book-shelf  beside  those  dainty  volumes  in  which  Mr.  Austin  Dobson  has  em- 
balmed the  very  spirit  of  the  period  of  the  hoop  and  the  patch,  the  coffee-house, 
and  the  sedan  chair.  And  could  Mr.  Stanley  Weyman  ask  for  better  company 
for  his  books  than  that  ?"— EVENING  SUN,  NEW  YORK. 

"Contains  what  is  probably  the  most  ingenious  and  exciting  situation  even 
he  has  ever  invented. A— BOOK  BUYEK,  NEW  YORK. 


LONGMANS,  GBEEN.  &  00.,  91-93  PITTS  AVE.,  NEW  YORK. 


LYSBETH 


A     TALE     OF     THE     DUTCH 

BY  H.  RIDER  HAGGARD 

AUTHOR  OF  "SHE,"  "KING  SOLOMON'S  MINES,"  "SWALLOW,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


With  26  Full-page  Illustrations.    Crown  8vo,  Cloth, 
Ornamental,  $1.5O 


"  Mr.  Rider  Haggard  at  his  very  best.  To  give  an  adequate  idea  of  the  story 
of '  Lysbeth '  we  should  require  many  columns  for  the  simple  catalogue  of  the 
adventures  and  perils  and  fights  and  escapes  which  make  up  one  of  the  most 
vigorous  and  exciting  tales  ever  written." — THE  BOOKMAN,  LONDON. 

"It  is  a  thrilling  tale  of  adventure  and  sacrifice,  with  a  substantial  love 
element  and  strong  side  lights  upon  the  history  of  the  people  of  the  Netherlands 
during  the  period  in  which  the  masterly  drawn  characters  move.  It  is  told  in  a 
captivating  style  with  never-flagging  interest,  and  is  by  all  odds  the  best  story, 
as  it  will  probably  be  the  most  popular,  that  this  author  has  written." 

—NORTH  AMERICAN,  PHILADELPHIA. 

"  '  Lysbeth '  is  one  of  the  most  complete  romances  that  have  been  written ; 
,  .  .  it  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  .  .  .  stories  of  the  Spanish  misrule 
tn  the  Netherlands.  It  includes  all  the  elements  for  romantic  narrative — 
affection,  peril,  bravery  and  villainy,  and  each  delineated  with  impressiveness 
that  moves  the  reader  to  alternate  emotions  of  admiration  and  detestation." 

—BOSTON  COURIER. 

"  .  .  .  May  be  safely  called  the  best  story  of  this  popular  writer  ol 
adventures.  His  vivid  and  audacious  style  of  picturing  thrilling  and  improb- 
able adventures  is  given  full  play.  The  historical  background  adds  much  to 
the  interest  of  the  story  if  one  is  not  interested  merely  in  adventures.  .  .  . 
The  illustrations  of  the  book  are  numerous  and  excellent. " 

— BOSTON  TRANSCRIPT. 

"...  A  novel  which  is  well  worth  reading.  Haggard  is  master  of  an 
inimitable  style.  He  is  a  wonderful  painter  of  battles,  and  the  description  of 
the  flight  with  Brant's  jewels  down  the  canal  and  out  to  sea  is  one  of  the  best 
descriptions  of  a  fight  ever  written.  *  Lysbeth '  is  a  novel  which  sustains  the 
interest  from  the  first  to  the  last  chapter."— SAN  FRANCISCO  BULLETIN. 

"  Here  is  a  really  strong  piece  of  work,  and  one  in  which  Rider  Haggard 
appears  on  an  entirely  new  ground.  .  .  .  The  historical  background  is 
sufficient  in  itself  to  make  a  story  of  entrancing  interest,  and  the  two  or  three 
romances  which  have  been  interwoven  with  it  make  the  book  one  of  the  most 
notable  even  among  the  many  excellent  works  of  recent  historical  fiction.  The 
Spanish  and  the  Dutch  types  are  both  true  to  life,  and  the  historical  setting  is 
remarkably  accurate  and  true.  Rider  Haggard  will  indeed  win  more  lasting 
renown  by  his  work  on  '  Lysbeth '  than  by  his  wierd  tales  which  were  the  talk  of 
a  day  and  then  forgotten."— LIVING  CHURCH. 


LONGMANS,  GBEEN,  &  00,,  91-93  HTTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YOEK, 


PEARL-MAIDEN 

A  TALE  OF  THE  FALL  OF  JERUSALEM 
By  H.  RIDER  HAGGARD 


With  26  Full-page  Illustrations  by  Byam  Shaw 
Crown,  8vo,  cloth,  ornamental,  $1.50 


"...  The  story  is  of  absorbing  interest.  It  is  very  seldom 
that  one  runs  across  an  historical  novel,  the  plot  of  which  is  so  ably 
sustained.  Something  interesting  happens  in  every  chapter.  There 
are  some  delightful  love  passages,  for  no  novel  can  be  considered 
perfect  without  a  little  of  that.  The  story  has  zest  and  is  full  of 
adventure.  The  style  is  brilliant,  easy  and  clear.  The  narrative 
will  be  followed  with  breathless  interest.  The  book  is  beautifully 
printed,  handsomely  bound,  and  profusely  illustrated.  .  .  ." 

— EAU  CLAIRE  LEADER,  Wis. 

"  .  .  .  It  is  one  of  the  best  books  that  Mr.  Haggard  has 
written  for  several  years.  ...  It  contains  two  or  three  scenes 
of  uncommon  strength ;  the  arena  scene,  with  the  Christian  martyrs, 
in  the  opening  pages,  the  sale  of  Roman  slave  girls,  near  the  close. 
It  is  not  a  book  which  can  be  read  through  in  a  brief  half  hour  or 
two,  and  it  does  not  permit  the  attention  to  wander.  Altogether  it 
is  a  book  which  deserves  a  wider  notice." 

— COMMERCIAL  ADVERTISER,  NEW  YORK. 

"...  there  is  vigor,  charm,  and  doubtless  historical  value 
in  the  pictures  which  Mr.  Haggard  draws  of  dramatic  events  and 
splendid  pageants  that  will  never  lose  interest  and  significance  to  a 
world  yet  shaken  by  their  influence." — OUTLOOK,  NEW  YORK. 

"  .  .  .  'Pearl  Maiden*  must  be  ranked  among  his  best 
books.  It  is  full  of  adventure,  of  terrible  dangers  met  on  the  battle- 
field and  elsewhere  ...  is  from  beginning  to  end  absorbing. 
Never  has  Mr.  Haggard  been  more  inventive  or  more  skilful.  His 
plot  is  well  constructed,  and  he  controls  the  evolution  of  the  story 
with  the  art  that  leaves  an  impression  of  absolute  naturalness.  We 
must  add  a  good  word  for  the  numerous  illustrations  by  Mr.  Byam 
Shaw.  They  are  cleverly  drawn  with  the  pen,  but  they  are  even 
more  to  be  praised  for  the  freshness  and  variety  with  which  they 
have  been  designed." — NEW  YORK  TRIBUNE. 

"  .  .  .  '  Pearl  Maiden  '  is  a  more  convincing  story  than  any 
he  has  written  about  imaginary  kingdoms  .  .  .  there  is  no 
reason  why  it  should  not  rival  the  popularity  of  '  She '  and  '  King 
Solomon's  Mines,'  and  in  any  event  it  will  be  sure  to  find  many  fas- 
cinated readers.  ...  It  is  the  best  story  Mr.  Haggard  has 
written  in  recent  years." — REPUBLICAN,  SPRINGFIELD,  MASS. 


LONGMANS,  GREEN,  &  CO.,    91-93  FIFTH  AVE.,    NEW  YORK 


THE  ROMMANY  STONE 

By  J.  H.  YOXALL,  M.  P. 


Crown  8vo,  cloth,  ornamental,  $1.5O 


"A  story  of  gypsy  life  and  enchantment,  the  scene  of  which  is  laid  in  Eng- 
land .  .  .  well  told,  having  the  sort  of  interest  that  awakes  wonder,  and 
keeps  it  awake." — THE  OUTLOOK,  NEW  YORK. 

"A  romance  quite  worthy  of  being  classed  with  '  Lorna  Doone.'  " 

—MORNING  LEADER. 

"  .  .  :  Is  good  beyond  all  cavil  It  is  not  great ;  it  makes  no  pretension 
of  being  great ;  but  it  will  probably  be  alive  when  most  of  the  recent '  great ' 
works  are  dead.  There  are  three  or  four  scenes  that  will  bite  deep  into  any 
imagination  that  is  not  adamantean  proof." — CHICAGO  EVENING  POST. 

''  The  fascination  in  all  that  belongs  to  gypsy  life  exerts  itself  powerfully  in 
•The  Rommany  Stone.'  .  .  .  The  story  is  skillfully  told,  the  most  note- 
worthy feature  being  its  admirable  literary  construction." 

—THE  CHURCHMAN,  NEW  YORK. 


THE  THOUSAND  EUGENIAS 

By  MRS.  A.  SIDGWICK 
AUTHOR  OF  "  CYNTHIA'S  WAY,"  ETC. 


Crown  8vo,  cloth,  $1.5O 

•'.  .  .  We  read  on  to  the  end  and  find  interest  in  every  page  of  the  book 
— which  in  the  end  is  the  best  test  of  a  story."— NEW  YORK  TIMES. 

".  .  .  A  volume  of  short  and  truly  humorous  tales.  .  .  .  One  might 
be  tempted  to  say  that  the  mantle  of  Stockton  had  fallen  upon  this  particular 
woman,  or  that  also  owing  to  some  atavistic  freak,  the  very  spirit  of  the  author 
of  '  Mrs.  Leeks  and  Mrs.  Aleshine  '  had  directed  the  creator  of  the  heroine  of 
'  The  Thousand  Eugenias  '  in  her  portrayal  of  the  luckless  maiden  who  by  no 
chance  ever  even  stumbled  upon  the  proper  and  correct  and  sensible  thing  to 
do."r— COURIER-JOURNAL,  LOUISVILLE,  KY. 

"...  It  deals  in  a  vivid  and  picturesque  way  with  the  theft  of  a  stock 
certificate  .  .  .  the  story  proceeds  cleverly  and  convincingly  to  a  dramatic 
conclusion." — THE  PICAYUNE,  NEW  ORLEANS. 

"...  Appetizing  in  brisk  and  amusing  originality,  the  book  is  to  be  com- 
mended to  those  who  seek  pleasure  through  the  medium  of  sparkling  sketches 
of  the  lighter  sides  of  character."— CHICAGO  EVENING  POST. 


LONGMANS,  GREEN,  &  CO.,  91-93  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 


LUKE  DELMEGE 

By  P.  A.  SHEEHAN,  Parish  Priest,  Doneraile,  Co.  Cork 

AUTHOR  OF   "  MY  NEW  CURATE  " 


Crown  8vo,  $1.5O 

"  This  is  an  exceedingly  powerful  and  absorbing  book.  Beginning  with  the 
true  artistic  quiet  and  restraint,  it  strengthens  and  broadens  in  power  and  inter- 
est until  it  moves  on  like  a  great  procession.  .  .  .  It  is  a  novel  but  it  is  more 
than  that.  It  is  a  great  sermon,  a  great  lesson,  almost  a  great  drama.  .  .  . 
We  cordially  commend  '  Luke  Delmege '  for  its  lofty  purpose  and  thought,  its 
adequate  diction,  and  its  high  incentive  .  .  .  there  is  in  it  an  occasional 
touch  of  humor  which  is  very  welcome  and  which  is  truly  Irish  in  its  nature. 
Altogether  we  consider  '  Luke  Delmege  '  the  most  notable  religious  novel  that 
has  been  written  within  a  year."— THE  SUN,  BALTIMORE,  MD. 

"  One  of  the  triumphs  among  the  works  of  fiction.  .  .  .  It  is  an  extremely 
interesting  tale  of  Irish  life,  full  of  profound  erudition,  and  withal  replete  with 
incident  and  pathos."— MONITOR,  ST.  JOHN,  N.  B. 

"'Luke  Delmege '  is  in  some  respects  a  greater  accomplishment  than  its 
predecessor.  If  it  has  not  such  exuberance  of  humor,  its  theme  is  more  vital 
and  the  work  itself  more  substantial.  It  is  a  book  which  philosophers  and  se- 
rious students  will  enjoy  almost  as  thoroughly  as  the  chronic  novel-reader.  .  .  . 
No  other  author  has  given  us  such  a  series  oi  clerical  portraits  ...  a  story 
ol  which  Catholics  may  well  be  proud.  It  is  of  classic  quality,  and  generations 
hence  it  will  be  read,  enjoyed,  and  lauded  as  one  of  the  masterpieces  of  English 
fiction." — AVE  MARIA,  NOTRE  DAME,  IND. 

"  This  is  loftier  work  than  '  My  New  Curate,'  and  its  influence  will  be  stronger 
and  grander.  It  is  a  wonderful  story,  with  something  in  its  passionate  pleading 
for  the  supremacy  of  the  mystical  that  recalls  a  mediaeval  saint  emerging  from 
his  solitude  to  denounce  the  world  and  to  summon  the  few  elect  to  the  business 
of  their  salvation.  .  .  .  We  freely  pass  upon  the  book  the  judgment  that  it 
is  worthy  to  live  with  the  very  best  we  have  of  noble  and  uplifting  fiction." 

— CATHOLIC  NEWS,  N.  Y. 

"  Father  Sheehan's  latest  work  is  in  many  respects  his  best.  It  is  a  more 
pretentious  literary  effort  and  a  more  finished  work  than  '  My  New  Curate.' 
....  His  characters  are  strong  and  lifelike.  All  things  considered  '  Luke 
Delmege '  is  one  of  the  best  things  that  have  been  published  lately." 

— ROSARY  MAGAZINE,  N.  Y. 

"  We  have  just  read  'Luke  Delmege,'  and  of  all  the  books  of  the  year,  ser- 
mon or  song  or  story,  we  put  it  first.  ...  In  this  new  work  he  adds  a  new 
glory  to  his  fame— a  place  in  the  hearts  of  his  countrymen  forever." 

—FREEMAN'S  JOURNAL,  N.  Y. 

LONGMANS,  GBEEN,  &  CO.,  91-93  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YOBt 


MY  LADY  OF  ORANGE 

A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  NETHERLANDS  IN  THE  DAYS  OF  ALVA 

BY  H.  C.   BAILEY 


With  8  Illustrations  by  G.  P.  Jacomb-Hood 
Crown  8vo,  $1.25 


11  There  is  not  a  line  of  padding  in  the  story.  It  moves  swiftly  and  steadily 
from  start  to  finish.  Incident  follows  incident  in  vivid  succession,  but  the  narra- 
tive, while  rapid,  is  never  complex  or  incoherent  The  hero  is  a  soldier  of 
sturdy  pattern ;  and  My  Lady  of  Orange  is  a  woman  worthy  of  the  hairbreadth 
'scapes  endured  for  her  safety  and  happiness.  The  pictures  by  Mr.  Jacomb- 
Hood  are  superb."— BEACON,  BOSTON. 

"  .  .  .  Told  with  a  vigorous  brusqueness  and  Torce  that  are  in  keeping 
with  the  character  of  the  doughty  soldier  of  fortune  as  he  reveals  himself  to  be. 
There  is  plenty  of  fighting  and  deeds  of  daring.  .  .  .  The  heroine, 
Mistress  Gabrielle  de  St.  Trond,  is  a  brave,  winsome  maid,  with  courage  and 
wit  and  womanly  sweetness  too.  .  .  .  The  story  moves  forward  with  a  fine 
impetuosity  and  dash,  and  speeds  briskly  in  the  telling,  as  befits  a  tale  of 
action.'1— BROOKLYN  TIMKS. 

11  Mr.  Bailey  has  written  a  rattling  good  story  of  Alva  and  the  war  in  the 
Netherlands.  .  .  .  Mr.  Bailey  has  caught  the  atmosphere  of  the  period  very 
successfully.  The  style  of  the  narrative  is  just  archaic  enough  without  being 
pedantic,  and  the  spirit  and  character  of  the  narrator  are  very  clearly  and  dra- 
matically portrayed.  In  this  respect  the  novel  will  rank  high  among  recent 
books  of  its  kind."— NEWS  AND  COURIER,  CHARLESTON. 

"  The  soldier  of  fortune  has  never  been  more  exactly  and  strongly  delineated 
than  he  is  in  '  My  Lady  of  Orange.'  It  is  replete  with  thrilling  escapades,  and 
every  character  is  one  of  interest  clearly  delineated.  An  excellent  romance 
skilfully  described."— BOSTON  COURIER. 

"  We  have  to  thank  Mr.  Bailey,  whose  name  is  new  to  us,  for  creating  such 
a  womanly  heroine,  for  such  an  entertaining  and  faithful  reproduction  of 
old-time  Flemish  life,  and  for  making  his  characters  think  and  talk,  and  now 
and  then  swear,  like  human  men  and  women  and  not  like  literary  puppets." 

— MAIL  AND  EXPRESS,  NEW  YORK. 

"  Here  is  a  natural,  tender,  humorous,  beautiful  and  artistic  romance,  told 
autobiographically  by  an  Englishman,  who  was  a  soldier  of  Orange.  We 
receive  here  graphic  accounts  of  Holland  life,  and  an  easy,  human  kind  of 
narrative  which  will  interest  men  and  women  alike.  The  value  of  the  tale  is 
enhanced  by  eight  full-pa^e  illustrations.''— GLOUCESTER  DAILY  TIMES. 


LONGMANS,  GEEEN,  &  00,,  91-93  PITTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YOKE. 


KARL   OF   ERBACH 

A  TALE  OF  LICHTENSTEIN  AND  SOLGAU 
By  H.  C.  BAILEY 


Crown,  8vo,  cloth,  ornamental,  $1.50 


"  This  is  a  capital  story  of  old  Lichenstein  and  Solgau.  .  .  . 
It  is  a  vivid,  pleasing  romance,  full  of  the  aroma  of  German  legend 
and  war." — CHRONICLE-TELEGRAPH,  PITTSBURG. 

"...  The  story  is  well  told,  and  is  one  of  the  best  of 
recent  historical  novels." — REPUBLICAN,  SPRINGFIELD,  MASS. 

"  There  is  something  rare  and  preciously  refreshing  in  these 
days  in  a  hero  of  historical  romance  who  is  not  '  spilin'  for  a  fight,' 
and  we  encounter  just  such  a  hero  in  '  Karl  of  Erbach.'  .  .  .  Some 
notable  historic  figures  move  across  its  pages,  and  the  spirited 
action  carries  with  it  a  suggestion  of  the  making  of  history  which 
intensifies  the  novel's  impressiveness.  At  the  same  time,  espe- 
cially in  the  lighter  sentimental  aspect  of  the  story,  and  in  the 
delineation  of  such  characters  as  the  delightful  Comte  de  Lormont 
and  the  charming  Lady  Amaryllis,  the  author  reveals  a  delicacy  of 
touch  which  insures  pleasing  results  for  the  reader's  satisfac- 
tion. .  .  .  " — REPUBLIC,  ST.  Louis,  Mo. 

"...  a  rattling  tale  of  love  and  war,  of  a  stronger  fibre 
and  with  characters  more  natural  and  human  than  can  be  said 
of  most  tales  of  its  kind.  .  .  .  But  '  Karl  of  Erbach  '  is  very  good; 
the  action  is  spirited." — NEW  YORK  COMMERCIAL  ADVERTISER. 

"  The  story  is  admirably  well  constructed,  free  from  extraneous 
matter  and  moving  swiftly.  The  succession  of  incidents  is  rapid. 
Mr.  Bailey's  men  are  dashing  and  brave,  and  his  women  are  charm- 
ing and  captivating.  What  more  could  anyone  want  in  a  romance? 

— PHILADELPHIA  PRESS. 

"  How  Karl  of  Erbach  saves  Solgau  and  restores  the  country  to 
peace  and  plenty,  and  how  he  wins  and  marries  the  Lady  Yoland  is 
the  matter  of  the  tale.  Mr.  Bailey  has  style,  dramatic  instinct,  and 
delicate  feeling,  and  these  combine  to  make  his  book  distinctive  and 
of  far  more  than  average  interest." — PUBLIC  OPINION,  NEW  YORK. 

"  Mr.  Bailey  has  given  us  an  admirable  story  of  life  in  the 
provinces  of  Lichtenstein  and  Solgau,  during  the  Thirty  Years' 

War The  story  abounds  in  action  that  stirs  the  blood 

to  healthy  circulation.     It  is  well  planned,  well  written  and  will  be 
well  received." — CLEVELAND  WORLD. 


LONGMANS,  GREEN,  &  CO.,  91-93  FIFTH  AVE.,  NEW  YORK 


THE  LORD  PROTECTOR 

A  STORY 
By  S.  LEVETT  YEATS 

AUTHOR  OF  "  THE  CHEVALIER  D'AURIAC,"  "  THE  HEART  OF  DKNISE  "  ETC. 


With  Frontispiece.    Crown  8vo,  cloth,  ornamental,  $  1 .50 


In  this  story  the  author  has  taken  a  new  departure  and  has  portrayed  as  his 
central  character  one  of  the  most  striking  figures  in  English  history.  The  picture 
of  Cromwell  differs  somewhat  from  the  ordinarily  accepted  estimate  of  the  Pro- 
tector, and  is  an  interesting  one  from  that  point  of  view.  Other  great  figures  of 
the  time  are  necessarily  brought  into  the  story,  which  has  its  love  interest  in  the 
fortunes  of  the  heiress  of  Coombe  Royal. 

"...  This  is  an  interesting  tale  .  .  .  dramatic  and  even  tragic,  but 
there  are  some  humorous  touches  here  and  there,  and  the  tone  throughout  is 
rendered  the  more  attractive  through  the  author's  skill  in  handling  the  sylvan 
charms  of  the  countryside  in  Old  England." — NEW  YORK  TRIBUNE. 

"  A  really  good  story  of  love  and  adventure  in  the  days  of  the  Cavalier  and 
Roundheads.  .  .  .  There  is  dash,  spirit  and  charm  in  the  story  that  makes 
it  thoroughly  readable."— CHRONICLE-TELEGRAPH,  PITTSBURG. 

"  An  excellent  story    .    .    ."—COMMERCIAL,  BUFFALO. 

".  .  .  Is  an  exceedingly  interesting  romance.  .  .  .  The  story  is  well 
told,  contains  sufficient  of  romance,  adventure  and  daring  to  hold  the  keenest 
interest  throughout.  The  book  deserves  a  prominent  place  in  the  estimation  of 
lovers  of  historic  romance."— DAILY  WORLD,  CLEVELAND. 

" .  .  ,  It  is  an  interesting  story  from  first  page  to  last,  moreover  a 
wholesome  one  which  no  one  need  hesitate  to  recommend." 

—HERALD,  ONEONTA,  N.  Y. 

" .  .  .  The  book  is  well  worth  reading  and  holds  the  interest  of  the 
reader  from  beginning  to  end  .  .  ." — AMERICAN,  BALTIMORE. 

"  .  .  .  There  is  action  on  every  page  of  the  book  ;  love,  fighting,  and  some 
very  good  humor.  The  author  has  a  most  pleasant  style,  and  wastes  no  words 
in  the  telling  of  his  story,  which  will  interest  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men  and 
women.  It  is  a  book  full  of  enjoyment."— NASHVILLE  AMERICAN. 

"  There  is  the  same  vividness  of  conception  and  interesting  historical  detail 
that  have  marked  the  earlier  work  of  this  author."— THE  DIAL,  CHICAGO. 


LONGMANS,  GREEN,  &  CO.,  91-93  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 


THE  CHEVALIER  D'AURIAC. 

A  ROMANCE. 
BY  S.  LEVETT  YEATS. 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  HONOUR  OF  SAVKLLI,"  ETC.,  ETC. 
1  2mo,  cloth,  ornamental,  $1.25. 


"The  story  is  full  of  action,  it  is  alive  from  cover  to  cover,  and  is  so  compact  with  thrill* 
ing  adventure  that  there  is  no  room  for  a  dull  page.  The  chevalier  tells  his  own  story,  but 
he  is  the  most  charming  of  egoists.  He  wins  our  sympathies  from  the  outset  by  his  boyish 
naivete,  his  downright  manliness  and  bravery.  .  .  .  Not  only  has  Mr.  Yeats  written  an 
excellent  tale  of  adventure,  but  he  has  shown  a  close  study  of  character  which  does  not  bor- 
row merely  from  the  trappings  of  historical  actors,  but  which  denotes  a  keen  knowledge  of 
human  nature,  and  a  shrewd  insight  into  the  workings  of  human  motive*.  .  .  .  The 
fashion  of  the  period  is  kept  well  in  mind,  the  style  of  writing  has  just  that  touch  of  old. 
fashioned  formality  which  serves  to  veil  the  past  from  the  present,  and  to  throw  the  light* 
and  shadows  into  a  harmony  of  tone.  .  .  .  The  work  has  literary  quality  of  a  genuine 
sort  in  it,  which  raises  it  above  a  numerous  host  of  its  fellows  in  kind.  ' 

— BOOKMAN,  NEW  YORK. 

"...  A  story  of  Huguenot  days,  brim  full  of  action  that  takes  shape  in  plots,  sud- 
den surprises,  fierce  encounters,  and  cunning  intrigues.  The  author  is  so  saturated  with  the 
times  of  which  he  writes  that  the  story  is  realism  itself.  .  .  .  The  story  is  brilliant  and 
thrilling,  and  whoever  sits  down  to  give  it  attention  will  reach  the  last  page  with  regret" 

— GLOBE,  BOSTON. 

"...  A  tale  of  more  than  usual  interest  and  of  genuine  literary  merit  .  .  . 
The  characters  and  scenes  in  a  sense  seem  far  removed,  yet  they  live  in  our  hearts  and  seem 
contemporaneous  through  the  skill  and  philosophic  treatment  of  the  author.  Those  men  and 
women  seem  akin  to  us;  they  are  flesh  and  blood,  and  are  impelled  by  human  motives  as  we 
are.  One  cannot  follow  the  fortunes  of  this  hero  without  feeling  refreshed  and  benefited." 

— GLOBE-DEMOCRAT,  ST.  Louis. 

"A  book  that  may  be  recommended  to  all  those  who  appreciate  a  good,  hearty,  rollicking 
story  of  adventure,  with  lots  of  fierce  fighting  and  a  proper  proportion  of  love-making.  .  .  . 
There  is  in  his  novel  no  more  history  than  is  necessary,  and  no  tedious  detail ;  it  ii  a  story 
inspired  by,  but  not  slavishly  following,  history.  .  .  .  The  book  is  full  of  incident,  and 
from  the  first  chapter  to  the  last  the  action  never  flags.  ...  In  the  Chevalier  the  author 
has  conceived  a  sympathetic  character,  for  d' Auriac  is  more  human  and  less  of  a  puppet  than 
most  heroes  of  historical  novels,  and  consequently  there  are  few  readers  who  will  not  find  en- 
joyment in  the  story  of  his  thrilling  adventures.  .  .  .  This  book  should  be  read  by  all 
who  love  a  good  story  of  adventures.  There  is  not  a  dull  page  in  it." — NEW  YORK  Sun. 

"A  capital  story  of  the  Dumas- Weyman  order.  .  .  .  The  first  chapters  bring  one 
right  into  the  thick  of  the  story,  and  from  thence  on  the  interest  is  unflagging.  The  Chevm- 
lier  himself  is  an  admirably  studied  character,  whose  straightforwardness  and  simplicity, 
bravery,  and  impulsive  ana  reckless  chivalry,  win  the  reader's  sympathy.  D'Auriac  has 
something  of  the  intense  vitality  of  Dumas's  heroes,  and  the  delightful  improbabilities  through 
which  he  passes  so  invincibly  nave  a  certain  human  quality  which  renders  them  akin  to  our 
day.  Mr.  Levett  Yeats  has  done  better  in  this  book  than  in  anything  else  he  has  written." 

— PICAYUNE,  NEW  ORLEANS. 

"  The  interest  in  the  story  does  not  lag  for  an  instant ;  all  is  life  and  action.  The  pict- 
uresque historical  setting  is  admirably  painted,  and  the  characters  are  skilfully  drawn,  espe- 
cially that  of  the  king,  a  true  monarch,  a  brave  soldier,  and  a  gentleman.  The  Chevalier  if 
the  typical  hero  of  romance,  fearing  nothing  save  a  stain  on  his  honor,  and  with  such  a  hero 
there  can  not  but  be  vigor  and  excitement  in  every  page  of  the  story." 

— MAIL  AND  EXPRESS,  NEW  YORK. 

'Asa ! 
•Three  Mi 

"  We  find  all  the  fascination  of  mediaeval  France,  which  have  made  Mr.  Weyman's  stories 
snch  general  favorites.  .  .  .  We  do  not  see  how  any  intelligent  reader  can  take  it  up 
without  keen  enjoyment" — LIVING  CHURCH,  CHICAGO. 


i  story  of  adventure,  pure  and  simple,  after  the  type  originally  seen  in  Dumai's 
luBketeers,'  the  book  is  well  worthy  of  high  praise.   —  OUTLOOK,  NEW  YORK. 


LONGMANS,  GBEEN,  &  00.,  91-93  PIPTH  AVE.,  NEW  YOBK. 


BY  THE  RAMPARTS  OF  JEZREEL 

BY  ARNOLD  DAVENPORT 


With  Frontispiece  by  Lancelot   Speed 
Crown,  8vo,  cloth,  ornamental,  $1.50 


"...  The  merits  of  the  book  are  the  careful  details  of 
ancient  life  and  dress,  manners,  and  customs;  the  swift  onward 
movement  of  the  narrative,  the  breathless  ness  of  conflict,  the 
illusion  of  reality  that  conveys  a  thrill  of  suspense,  even  in  the  face 
of  palpable  absurdities.  And  beyond  a  doubt  the  character  of 
Jezebel,  as  an  incarnation  of  feminine  evil,  is  somewhat  more  than 
cleverly  drawn.  To  a  certain  degree  she  is  a  creation,  a  novel  bit 
of  character  painting. " — COMMERCIAL  ADVERTISER,  NEW  YORK. 

" The  novel  is  exciting,  is  strongly  written  .... 

The  story  of  the  infamous  Queen  Jezebel  furnishes  the  materials  for 

a  dramatic  narrative  of  unusual  strength " 

— BROOKLYN  DAILY  EAGLE. 

"...  The  romance  is  interesting  in  plot  and  is  replete  with 
action." — BALTIMORE  AMERICAN. 

"  .  .  .  There  is  a  wealth  of  imagery  in  the  story  and  a  well- 
sustained  plot  keeps  the  reader  interested  to  the  end.  .  .  ." 

— ST.  Louis  GLOBE-DEMOCRAT. 

"  A  fascinating  tale  of  the  days  of  Queen  Jezebel,  in  which  the 
great  queen  is  portrayed  with  strength  and  vividness.  The  in- 
trigues carried  on  by  her  form  the  thrilling  interest  which  relaxes 
hardly  a  paragraph  throughout.  .  .  ." 

— CHURCH  REVIEW,  HARTFORD,  CT. 

"...  must  be  classed  as  a  notable  and  forceful  novel.  The 
plot  is  woven  about  the  insurrection  which  resulted  in  the  proclama- 
tion as  King  of  Israel  of  Jehu,  son  of  Nimshi,  and  the  killing  of 
King  Jehoram  and  Jezebel,  the  'Lady  of  Enchantment'  and  of  dark 
deeds.  .  .  .  Plots  and  counterplots,  giving  rise  to  numerous 
tense  and  dramatic  situations.  .  .  ." — NEW  YORK  TIMES. 

" The  narrative  is  interesting,  dramatic  and  full  of 

information  concerning  the  lives  of  the  people  who  dwelt  immedi- 
ately under  the  shadow  of  Divine  law." 

— PITTSBURG  CHRONICLE-TELEGRAPH. 

"...  an  unusually  striking  novel,  and  it  presents  the  his- 
toric scenes  to  the  reader  in  a  very  impressive  manner.  .  .  ." 

— LITERARY  WORLD,  BOSTON. 

"  ...  an  entertaining  and  instructive  story  of  the  reign  of 
Jehoram  and  Jezebel,  and  of  their  downfall  at  the  hands  oi  Jehu." 

— REVIEW  OF  REVIEWS,  NEW  YORK. 


LONGMANS,  GREEN,  &  CO..  91-93  FIFTH  AVE.,  NEW  YORK 


HOPE    THE    HERMIT 

A  ROMANCE  OF  BORROWDALE. 

BY  EDNA  LYALL, 

AUTHOR   OF   "  DOREEN,"  "  WAYFARING   MEN,"  BTC. 

Crown  Svo,  cloth,  ornamental,  $1  .50. 


"When  Edna  Lyall  wrote  this  book  she  stepped  into  the  front  rank  of  living  novelists. 
It  exemplifies  the  finest  type  of  historical  romance,  which  is,  of  course,  the  highest  form  of 
fictious  literature.  The  scene  of  the  story  is  one  of  the  loveliest  which  could  have  been 
chosen,  the  lake  region  of  England.  .  .  .  Her  story  is  full  of  life  and  incident,  and  at 
the  same  time  conveys  lessons  of  high  morality.  .  .  .  Altogether  this  is  one  of  the 
healthiest,  purest,  best,  and  most  powerful  romances  in  the  whole  range  of  English 
literature.  — LIVING  CHURCH,  CHICAGO. 

"  Miss  Bayly  ...  by  careful  examination  of  her  authorities  has  been  able  to  con- 
struct an  uncommonly  good  romance  of  the  days  when  brother's  hand  was  against  brother. 
It  is  distinctly  good  work — a  stirring  story  and  in  every  way  creditable  to  the  author." 

— PUBLIC  OPINION,  NEW  YORK. 

"The  characters  are  well  drawn,  never  mere  puppets.  There  is  a  coherent,  well- 
thought-out,  and  carefully  developed  plot,  and  the  style  is  clear  and  straightforward.  The 
story  is  wholesome  and  interesting,  and  much  better  worth  reading  than  a  good  many  of 
the  so-called  'stories  of  adventure.'  " — BEACON,  BOSTON. 

"  There  are  few  novelists  of  the  present  day  whose  writings  are  better  known  and  liked 
than  those  of  Edna  Lyall.  They  are  always  clean,  pure  and  wholesome,  and  delightful  read- 
ing. The  latest, '  Hope  the  Hermit,'  deals  with  her  favorite  period,  the  seventeenth  century. 
We  have  the  revolution,  the  accession  of  William  and  Mary,  and  the  Jacobite  plots,  and 
among  the  real  characters  introduced  are  Archbishop  Tillotson,  Lady  Temple  and  George 
Fox,  the  Quaker.  .  .  .  The  story  ends  as  all  love  stories  should,  to  be  perfectly  satisfactory 
to  the  average  novel  reader,  and  '  Hope  the  Hermit '  will  find  many  readers,  who  are  fond 
of  a  good  story  well  told." — ADVERTISER,  PORTLAND,  ME. 

"  She  is  quite  at  home  with  her  theme.  .  .  .  It  is  a  fine  historical  novel,  admirably 
written,  and  one  of  her  best  books." — LITERARY  WORLD,  BOSTON. 

"...  is  one  of  those  delightful  stories  that  have  made  the  author  very  popular 
and  that  one  can  take  up  with  the  absolute  certainty  of  finding  nothing  unclean  or  repel- 
lent. It  is  a  clear,  strong,  well-designed,  refreshing  story,  based  upon  scenes  and  events 
in  the  days  of  William  and  Mary  of  England— days  when  a  man  could  hardly  trust  his  own 
brother,  and  when  sons  were  on  one  side  in  a  rebellion,  and  the  father  on  the  other.  .  .  . 
Many  of  the  situations  are  very  exciting,  the  characters  are  admirably  drawn,  and  the  whole 
telling  of  the  story  is  entertaining,  grateful  and  artistic.  We  regard  it  as  quite  as  good  as 
'Donovan,'  and  the  other  popular  stories  by  the  same  author." — BUFFALO  COMMERCIAL. 

"  Miss  Bayly  has  kept  her  pages  clean  and  white.  The  book  is  preeminently  suitable 
to  the  shelves  of  a  circulating  library,  as  well  as  to  the  reading-table  under  the  family  lamp. 
It  not  only  entertains,  but  gives  historical  data  in  a  pleasantly  impressive  manner  .  .  . 
we  have,  notwithstanding  a  few  extravagances,  a  very  fascinating  story,  enlivened  by  the 
admitted  license  of  the  writer  of  romance." — HOME  JOURNAL,  NEW  YOKK. 

"  This  latest  work  of  Miss  Bayly  has  all  the  qualities  which  have  won  her  popularity  in 
the  past.  The  book  should  have  a  considerable  vogue,  appealing,  as  it  does,  not  only  to 
those  who  like  quick  action,  plenty  of  adventure,  and  much  picturesqueness,  but  also  to 
those  who  have  a  cultivated  literary  palate." — DISPATCH,  RICHMOND,  VA. 

"...  is  one  of  the  best  specimens  of  Edna  Lyall's  talent  for  telling  a  good  story 
in  engaging  style.  .  .  .  The  reader's  attention  is  held  throughout." 

— PRESS,  PHILADELPHIA. 

"  There  is  much  in  this  book  to  commend  it.  It  is  original  and  has  great  activity. 
.  .  .  Miss  Lyall  possesses  literary  talent,  and  her  style  is  clear,  and,  to  one  unfamiliar 
with  her  writings,  ihis  latest  production  will  be  a  delightful  treat.  The  reader  will  put  it 
down  delighted  with  the  story,  refreshed  by  the  study  of  the  merits  and  faults  of  its  charac- 
ters, and  cogitating  upon  the  great  events  which,  during  the  making  of  English  history, 
followed  quickly  one  upon  another  toward  the  close  of  the  seventeenth  century." 

—PICAYUNE,  NEW  ORLEANS. 


LONGMANS,  GEEEN,  &  00.,  91-93  PITTH  AYE.,  NEW  YORK. 


IN  SPITE  OF  ALL 

By  EDNA  LYALL 

AUTHOR  OF  "DONOVAN."   "  DOREEN,"   "HOPE,  THE  HERMIT,"   ETC.,  ETG 


Crown  Svo,  cloth,  $1.5O 

"  The  days  when  England  was  rent  with  civil  war,  when  Puritan  and  Cava- 
lier fought  for  Parliament  and  King ;  when  Cromwell's  Roundheads  struggled 
heroically  against  the  lawless  Charles  and  finally  won — this  is  the  period  chosen 
for  this  splendid  story  .  .  .  while  of  necessity  there  is  abundance  of  war,  the 
story  is,  above  all,  one  of  love — tried  and  triumphant  .  .  .  Finely  written, 
full  of  striking  pictures  of  men  and  events. 

The  book  is  full  of  people  with  whom  each  of  us  is  familiar  through  reading 
history,  and  every  one  of  them  is  drawn  with  rare  fidelity  to  truth.  The  tale 
should  have  a  hearty  welcome  from  all  classes  of  readers." 

—NASHVILLE  AMERICAN. 

"  The  romance  .  .  .  the  familiar  one  of  a  Royalist  maiden  and  a  Puritan 
lover  who  espoused  the  cause  of  the  people  .  .  .  is  of  deep  interest  and  the 
story  thrills  with  the  excitement  of  conflicts  and  adventures,  mingled  with  the 
gentle  influences  of  love. 

The  book  is  pleasing  in  all  respects,  and  the  story  is  exceedingly  well  told 
holding  interest  to  the  end. " — EVERY  EVENING,  WILMINGTON,  DEL. 

"  This  story  of  532  pages  is  one  which  will  win  its  thousands  of  readers,  as  a 
story  of  love  and  trial,  war  and  separation,  must  when  handled  with  the  skill 
which  this  author's  training  has  given  her." — MAIL  AND  EXPRESS,  N.  Y. 

"  It  has  much  historic  interest  .  .  .  A  pretty  romance  holds  the  reader's 
interest  all  through  the  book.  The  hero  is  a  Puritan,  while  the  girl  he  loves, 
Hilary,  as  sweet  and  wilful  and  true  a  maid  as  could  have  been  found  in  those 
stormy  times,  is  a  bishop's  niece  and  therefore  a  Royalist  in  all  her  sympathies. 
There  are  strong  dramatic  scenes  in  the  book — the  battlefield  and  the  political 
intrigue  of  court  life  are  portrayed  and  also  the  religious  strife  existing  at  the 
time.  The  bigotry  of  the  Church  and  the  fanaticism  of  many, of  the  Puritans  is 
well  portrayed.  The  book,  like  all  that  this  author  has  written,  is  interesting 
and  wholesome." — REPUBLICAN,  DENVER,  COL. 

"The  story  is  clean,  pure  and  wholesome,  has  plenty  of  adventure  and  a 
goodly  amount  of  love-making,  and  is  written  in  an  easy,  pleasant  strain  that 
makes  it  an  entertaining  book." — BALTIMORE  AMERICAN. 

"  Is  well  worth  the  reading." — CHURCHMAN,  N.  Y. 

"  The  high  moral  tone  of  the  book  and  its  historical  accuracy  will  commend 
It  to  the  better  class  of  novel  readers." — CONGREGATION ALIST,  BOSTON. 

"The  latest  book  by  Edna  Lyall  may  safely  be  said  to  be  one  of  the  best  of 
recent  historical  novels." — BOSTON  TRANSCRIPT. 


LONGMAUS,  GKEEN,  &  00.,  91-03  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YOEK 


CHARLOTTE 

By  MRS.  L.  B.  WALFORD 
Crown  8vo,  382  pages,  $I.5O 

"  Charlotte  is  an  exceedingly  beautiful,  fascinating,  and  utterly  selfish 
coquette,   belonging  to  a   '  smart  set '  whose  rapid  pace   is   hardly  swift 
enough  to  suit  her     ...     a  very  good  story  with  a  very  good  moral. " 
— CHURCH  STANDARD,  PHILADELPHIA,  PA. 

"...  a  society  novel  pulsating  with  life  and  action,  and  revealing 
many  of  the  subtleties  of  the  human  heart. 

"  The  scene  vacillates  pleasantly  between  London  at  its  season's  height, 
fashionable  summer-resorts,  and  tranquillizing  rural  retreats,  with  a  strange 
interplay  of  light  and  shadow  and  commingling  of  comedy  and  tragedy. 
From  an  artistic  standpoint  the  book  is  a  clever  creation,  vivid  and  real." 

— CHICAGO  POST. 

•'  This  is  a  study  of  a  young  lady  who  is  not  at  all  good,  but  who,  as  not 
infrequently  is  the  case  with  people  of  doubtful  virtues,  is  very  interesting 

.     ,     an  extremely  readable  novel. " — COURIER,  LEBANON,   PA. 


THE   HINDERERS 

By   EDNA   LYALL 
Crown  8vo,  fl.OO 


"  There  is  itn  unusual  love-story  in  '  The  Hinderers  '  and  a  heroine  of 
much  magnetism.  Irene  de  St.  Croix,  a  lovable  English  girl  of  an  admir- 
able type.  The  romance  of  her  wooing  by  Sir  Christopher  Hope  is  well 
told." — REPUBLIC,  ST.  Louis. 

"...  this  interesting  novel  deserves  to  be  read  by  all  those  who 
would  like  to  follow  a  clean,  well-told,  and  spirited  narrative  of  incidents, 
that  are  liable  to  occur  in  this  age  of  furious  living." 

— PICAYUNE,  NEW  ORLEANS. 

"  The  book  should  be  read  and  will  be  enjoyed  by  the  many  admirers  of 
this  well-known  writer  of  fiction." — CHRISTIAN  WORK,  NEW  YORK. 

"  This  is  one  of  the  best  stories  written  by  Miss  Bayly.  It  is  a  strong 
narrative,  well  constructed,  with  characters  skilfully  handled.  It  is  a  story 
of  the  present  time  and  absorbingly  interesting." 

— ARMY  AND  NAVY  REGISTER,  WASHINGTON,  D.  C 


LONGMANS,   GREEN.   &   CO.,    91-93    FIFTH   AVENUE,  NEW  YORK. 


ONE  OF  OURSELVES 

BY  MRS.  L.  B.  WALFORD 

AUTHOR   OF   "  THE   BABY'S  GRANDMOTHER,"   "  LEDDY  MARGET,"   ETC.,   ETC, 


Crown  8vo,  454  Pages,  $1.5O 


"  Never  before  were  better  portraits  made  of  middle-class  English  women 
than  we  find  in  the  wives  of  the  three  bankers,  Thomas,  Charles,  and  Stephen 
Farrell ;  ...  is  about  the  best  novel  Mrs.  Walford  has  ever  written,  and  as 
has  already  been  said,  her  characters,  all  of  them,  are  depicted  with  remarkable 
grace  and  virility." — TIMES,  BOSTON. 

"  An  entertaining  story  with  characteristic  piquancy,  shrewdness,  and  sensi- 
bility. She  has  ever  had  a  special  gift  for  the  description  of  what  may  be  called 
tasteful  love-making." — NBW  YORK  TRIBUNB. 

"Is  an  amusing  English  story  ;  ...  it  is  full  of  amusing  incidents  and 
situations."— SAN  FRANCISCO  CHRONICLE. 

"There  is  great  variety  of  scene  and  incident  in  the  novel,  and  the  situ- 
ations are  amusing." — ARGONAUT,  SAN  FRANCISCO. 

"  A  very  vivacious  story  of  four  orphans.  .  .  .  The  conversations  are 
unusually  well  managed."— NEW  ENGLAND  MAGAZINE. 

"  This  is  a  story  of  English  life,  brightly  told,  a  little  on  the  long  side,  but 
interesting  and  entertaining  throughout.  Moreover,  it  is  altogether  wholesome 
reading,  which  is  more  than  can  be  said  of  many  stories  published  nowadays. 
Its  lessons  are  good.  There1  is  one  for  young  girls  and  women,  and  one,  too, 
for  men.  Much  of  the  telling  of  the  story  is  managed  by  conversations,  and 
these,  though  oftentimes  very  amusing,  are  simple  and  natural — very  different 
from  the  smart  persiflage  and  elegant  wit-play  so  much  striven  for  by  many 
writers  of  modern  fiction.  '  One  of  Ourselves '  is  indeed  on  the  whole  a  very 
likable  story.  There  are  many  characters  in  it — some  pretty  ones — and  these 
are  all  portrayed  admirably.  A  story  with  so  much  domesticity  in  it,  and  so 
little  that  is  stagey  and  melodramatic,  is  not  far  from  rare." 

— BULLETIN  OF  NEW  BOOKS. 

"  It  is  a  remarkably  good  character  study.  The  quiet  adventures  and  pleas- 
ant happenings  of  the  various  members  of  the  family  are  most  interesting,  and 
one  enjoys  the  society  of  a  wholesome  group  throughout  the  whole  story." 

— FINANCIAL  RECORD,  NEW  YORK. 

"A  very  bright  social  study,  and  the  author  succeeds  in  thoroughly  arousing 
the  reader's  interest  in  the  love-making  of  William  Farrell,  who,  in  the  guise  of 

an  honored  member  of  society,  is  a  consummate  scoundrel." 

—HERALD,  MONTREAL. 


LONGMANS,  GEEEN,  &  CO,,  91-93  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  TOEK. 


THE  WHIRLIGIG 

By  MAYNE  LINDSAY 

AUTHOR    OF  "THE  VALLEY   OF  SAPPHIRES1 


With  8  full-page  Illustrations  by  Maurice  Grleffenhagen 
Crown  Svo,  $1 .25 


"Crisp  and  clever  diction,  thrilling  yet  always  possible  situations,  with 
strength  sustained  throughout,  are  the  features  of  the  story.  It  is  a  perfect 
romance."— LLOYDS'  NBWS. 

"  Fairly  takes  one  off  his  feet  with  its  crowded,  impetuous,  bustling  succes- 
sion of  events.  The  story  is  well  told  and  holds  the  interest  .  .  .  The  story 
while  discoursing  of  dangerous  things  does  it  lightly  and  with  a  skillful  hand." 

— COURIER-JOURNAL,  LOUISVILLE,  K.Y. 

"  Makes  stirring  reading  .  .  .  the  action  takes  place  within  three  days, 
and  the  reader  is  carried  along  breathlessly  from  one  chapter  to  another." 

—CHICAGO  TRIBUNE. 

"And  surely  it  is  a  'Whirligig'  which  Mayne  Lindsay  has  devised,  abun- 
dant in  well-preserved  mystery,  with  the  proper  amount  of  sword-play  and  the  due 
complement  of  broken  heads,  and  full  of  exciting  yet  possible  situations.  Mr. 
Lindsay,  though  comparatively  a  new  writer,  shows  nothing  of  the  amateur  in 
this  dashing,  roystering  story,  which,  aside  from  its  incidents,  is  good  in  charac- 
ter drawing." — DETROIT  FREE  PRESS. 

"  The  author  is  a  young  and  comparatively  new  writer,  but  has  shown  un- 
usual skill  and  ingenuity  in  this  novel.  Seldom  has  an  author  succeeded  in 
crowding  two  days  of  a  man's  life  so  full  of  stirring,  unexpected  events  as  are 
here  provided  for  the  hero." — CHICAGO  EVENING  POST. 

"A  sparkling,  very  prettily  turned  little  romance,  whimsical  and  pictur- 
esque."— NEW  YORK  TIMES. 

"  Among  stories  of  adventure  it  would  be  hard  to  match  '  The  Whirligig.' 
...  It  starts  in  a  quiet,  if  unconventional,  way,  but  once  fairly  launched  on 
the  stream  of  narrative,  the  reader  is  carried  along,  in  breathless,  eager  haste  to 
the  very  end.  It  is  a  story  to  thrill  the  pulses  and  keep  one  on  the  edge  of 
ardent  curiosity  as  to  what  is  going  to  turn  up  next." — THE  BEACON,  BOSTON. 

"  There  is  no  dozing  or  drowsing  to  be  done  over  this  novel.  It  is  a  swiftly 
moving  tale  of  breathless  excitement.  It  is  drawn  according  to  a  familiar  pat- 
tern ;  but  it  has  merits  of  its  own  that  will  compel  the  attention  and  absorbed 
interest  of  every  reader  who  once  takes  it  up.  The  writer  is  new,  but  should 
soon  become  well  known  and  popular,  if  he  can  do  this  sort  of  thing  again." 

—PHILADELPHIA  TIMES. 


LONGMANS,   GREEN,   &   CO.,  91-93   FIFTH   AVENUE,  NEW  YORK. 


CYNTHIA'S  WAY 

By  Mrs.  ALFRED  SIDGWICK 

AUTHOR  OF   "THE  INNER  SHRINE,"   "THE  GRASSHOPPERS."  KTC. 


Crown  Svo,  cloth,  $1.5O 

"  This  is  a  tale  of  an  heiress  that  is  not  met  with  every  day.  Cynthia  Blount 
is  a  millionairess  whose  wish  it  is  to  be  loved  for  her  own  sake  and  not  for  her 
material  wealth.  As  a  means  to  this  end  she  takes  a  situation,  which  has  been 
offered  to  a  friend,  as  English  governess  in  a  German  family.  .  .  .  German 
family  life  is  very  intimately  and  faithfully  depicted,  and  most  of  the  characters 
are  well  drawn  and  interesting.  *  Cynthia's  Way '  is  well  worth  reading." 

— DAILY  CHRONICLE,  NEWCASTLE,  ENG. 

"  This  is  an  unusually  interesting  book  .  .  .  it  is  so  artistically  handled, 
so  delightfully  unravelled  that  one  forgets  and  forgives  ...  for  light,  inter- 
esting literature,  a  joy  to  the  traveller,  this  dainty  book  has  not  been  surpassed 
in  many  moons."— SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIMES,  NEW  YORK. 

"  A  delightful  story  of  German  life.  .  .  .  Altogether  the  story  deserves 
higher  praise  than  it  is  possible  to  give  to  the  ruck  of  current  fiction." 

— JOURNAL,  PROVIDENCE,  R.  I. 

••  It  is  a  most  amusing  novel.  .  .  .  For  the  fairness  of  the  book  it  would 
be  unsafe  to  vouch,  but  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  it  is  entertaining.  Even  a 
German  might  smile  over  it. " — REPUBLICAN,  SPRINGFIELD,  MASS. 

"The  dialogue  of  the  book  fairly  sparkles,  and  the  light  fiction  of  the  year 
offers  no  more  charming  medium  of  pleasure." — DENVER  REPUBLICAN. 

"  This  is  an  amusing,  clever  book,  full  of  humorous  scenes,  a  satirical  under- 
standing of  the  lighter  sides  of  character,  done  with  a  light  touch  and  much 
taste."— COMMERCIAL  ADVERTISER,  N.  Y. 

"  There  are  so  few  really  bright  and  entertaining  novels  this  season  that 
•  Cynthia's  Way '  will  be  gladly  seized  upon  by  hungry  novel  readers.  The  style 
is  very  taking  and  amusing." — BOSTON  BEACON. 

"  This  is  a  taking  story,  humorous  and  brisk,  with  a  flavor  of  originality 
that  makes  it  appetizing."— FREE  PRESS,  DETROIT,  MICH. 

"  A  most  readable  story  of  pure  tone  and  interesting  matter  .  .  .  can  be 
heartily  recommended  to  anyone  liking  a  wholesome  tale  of  interesting  people.  *' 

—COURIER-JOURNAL,  LOUISVILLE,  KY. 

"  Mrs.  Sidgwick's  new  novel,  '  Cynthia's  Way ' — her  cleverest  piece  of  work 
thus  far — reminds  us  strongly  of  '  The  Benefactress.'  The  same  fresh,  vivacious, 
and  femininely  ironical  style  marks  the  two  stories  and  wins  upon  the  reader 
with  irresistible  beguilement.  No  one  will  put  down  the  history  of  Cynthia,  we 
Imagine,  until  the  last  page  is  reached." — N.  Y.  TRIBUNE. 


LONGMANS,   GREEN,   &   CO.,   91-93   FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK. 


THE   MANOR   FARM 

By  M.  E.   FRANCIS   (Mrs.    FRANCIS    BLUNDELL) 

AUTHOR  OF  "  PASTORALS  OF  DORSET,"    "  FIANDER'S  WIDOW,"  ETC. 


With  Frontispiece  by  Claud  C.  Du  Pro  Cooper.    Crown  8vo, 
cloth,  ornamental,  $1.5O 


"  Quaint  humor  of  the  richest  quality  is  written  in  the  pages  of  Mrs.  Blun- 
dell's  new  book.  .  .  .  When  two  great  and  well-to-do  cousins  plan  the 
welfare  of  their  names  needs  the  marriage  of  their  children,  the  trouble  begins. 
No  one  has  yet  shown  greater  skill  than  our  author  in  weaving  the  green  and 
gold  pattern  of  young  life.  The  growth  of  these  two  young  people  from  child- 
hood, the  betrothal,  the  almost  necessary  hitch  in  affairs,  for  such  is  human 
nature,  the  very  natural  solution,  Mrs.  Blundell  has  made  delightful,  humorous, 
and  wholly  artistic.  It  is  the  finest  of  character  drawing,  for  the  men  and  women 
are  not  too  proud  to  be  human,  nor  bad  enough  to  be  uncompanionable. " 

— LIVING  CHURCH,  MILWAUKEE. 

"A  real  treat  is  in  store  for  the  readers  of  '  The  Manor  Farm.'  .  .  .  It  is 
a  naive  and  picturesque  story  of  English  country  life,  with  just  enough  dialect 
to  show  that  the  people  are  genuine  country  folk." 

— CHURCHMAN,  NEW  YORK. 

"...  A  delightful  story,  told  in  a  delightful  way.  It  is  what  you  may 
call  a  complete  story  .  .  .  giving  you  quaint,  rich  and  wholesome  descrip- 
tion of  men  and  things  on  an  English  farm.  It  is  one  of  the  few  novels  of  the 
year  worth  passing  around  the  family — or,  perhaps,  better  yet,  reading  in  the 
assembled  family."— UNITY,  CHICAGO,  ILL. 

"  Wholesome  and  sweet  as  the  scent  of  growing  clover  is  the  atmosphere  of 
this  charming  pastoral  tale  of  English  yeoman  life,  Written  in  the  easiest  and 
most  unaffected  style  it  narrates  with  much  animation  and  humor  the  fortunes 
of  two  branches  of  a  certain  family  of  farmer  folk.  .  .  .  The  '  love  interest '  is 
as  artless  and  innocent  as  it  is  engaging."— INDEPENDENT,  NEW  YORK. 

"  A  pretty  rustic  love  story  .  .  .  The  story  is  thoroughly  readable  and 
clean." — NEW  YORK  SUN. 

"...  The  story  is  excellently  written.  The  English  peasants  who  figure 
in  it  speak  an  odd  local  dialect  that  gives  originality,  never  unnaturalness  to  the 
style  .  .  .  the  story  ends  pleasantly,  as  such  an  idyl  should.  The  book 
rings  true,  and  deserves  a  cordial  reception." — RECORD-HERALD,  CHICAGO. 

"  This  is  a  wholesome  romance  of  the  Dorsetshire  country.  It  concerns  the 
endeavors  of  two  farmer  cousins  to  bring  about  the  marriage  of  their  son  and 
daughter  for  the  welfare  of  the  old  manor  farm.  The  plot,  which  is  a  simple  one, 
is  developed  with  naturalness  and  humor  .  .  .  her  pictures  of  the  homely 
life  among  the  farms  and  dairies  are  delightful." — THE  OUTLOOK,  NEW  YORK. 


LONGMANS,  GREEN,  &  CO.,  91-93  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 


FIANDER'S  WIDOW 

By  M.  E.  FRANCIS  (Mrs.  FRANCIS  BLUNDELL) 
AUTHOR  OF  "THE  DUENNA  OF  A  GENIUS,"  "YEOMAN  FLEETWOOD,"  ETC. 


Crown  8vo,  ornamental  cover,  $  1 .50 


"Is  an  altogether  delightful  story.  ...  If  more  of  such  novels  were 
written,  pure,  wholesome  and  bracing,  redolent  of  everything  that  is  pleasant 
to  the  senses,  the  world  would  be  all  the  better. " — BRISTOL  MERCURY. 

"  An  idyll  of  Dorsetshire  life,  as  natural  and  fresh  and  wholesome  as  the  old 
stone  dairy  in  which  some  of  the  scenes  take  place.  .  .  .  The  book  is  redo- 
lent of  the  charm  of  English  country  life,  pure  and  sweet,  as  it  were,  with  the 
scent  of  the  gorse  and  the  breath  of  the  kine,  of  all  things  that  are  wholesome 
and  homely  and  good."— COMMERCIAL  ADVERTISER,  NEW  YORK. 

"  One  of  the  most  charming  of  recently  published  works  of  fiction.  .  .  . 
The  plot  has  an  appetizing  freshness  about  it,  and  more  than  once  the  unexpected 
happens."— CHICAGO  EVENING  POST. 

"  Here  is  a  story  of  life  in  rural  England  well  worth  reading,  because  of  the 
curious  social  conditions  it  describes,  and  yet  these,  though  well  set  forth,  are 
only  incidental  to  the  main  theme,  which  is  a  delightful  study,  involving  much 
humor  and  no  tragedy,  of  the  belated  coming  of  love  to  an  earnest,  warm- 
hearted woman.  It  is  brightly,  lightly  done,  and  yet  holds  the  attention  and 
contains  sufficient  to  provoke  thought." — PUBLIC  LEDGER,  PHILA. 

"A  truly  delightful  bucolic  comedy.  The  theme  might  almost  be  called 
farcial,  but  the  treatment  is  delicate,  quaint  and  graceful.  Old  Isaac,  the  rustic 
bachelor  who  narrowly  escapes  matrimony  from  a  sense  of  duty,  is  a  Dorset- 
shire original  and  deserves  to  rank  with  the  best  rustics  of  Hardy,  Blackmore, 
and  Philpotts.  The  story  is  prettily  told  and  is  wholesomely  amusing.  Mrs. 
Blundell  is  always  careful  in  her  literary  workmanship  ;  this  tale  will  add  to  the 
popular  appreciation  of  her  work. " — OUTLOOK,  N.  Y. 

11  An  altogether  charming  tale.  .  .  .  There  is  not  a  dull  page  in  it,  and 
there  are  continuous  pages  and  chapters  of  the  brightest  humor." 

—LIVING  CHURCH,  MILWAUKEE. 

"  A  beautiful  little  story.  One  is  at  a  loss  for  an  epithet  adequate  to  its 
charm,  its  simplicity,  its  humor,  its  truth." — BROOKLYN  EAGLE. 

"  A  bright  little  pastoral  comedy.  .  .  .  The  widow  is  a  rare  combination 
of  business  sense  and  sentiment,  a  combination  which  insures  her  both  prosper- 
ity and  happiness.  Reversing  the  usual  order  of  love  and  life  she  postpones 
romance  until  she  is  able  to  entertain  her  Prince  Charming  in  truly  royal  style. 
The  sly  efforts  of  one  Isaac  Sharpe  to  rid  himself  of  the  burden  of  matrimony 
are  genuinely  amusing."— PUBLIC  OPINION,  N.  Y. 


LONGMANS,   GREEN,   &   CO.,  91-93   FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK. 


THE   DISENTANGLERS 

By  ANDREW  LANG 

With  7  full-page  Illustrations  by  H.  J.  Ford 
Crown  8vo,  $  1.5O 

"...  Original  in  conception  and  prodigiously  clever  in  treatment 
The  'great  idea'  of  the  two  impoverished  young  Englishmen  to  whom  we  are 
introduced  in  the  first  chapter  is  to  organize  a  system  of  disengaging  or  disen- 
tangling those  youths  and  maidens  who  contemplate  marriage  against  which 
family  opposition  is  sure  to  be  brought.  .  .  .  This  may  not  seem  a  start- 
lingly  new  motive,  but  there  is  novelty  enough  in  the  author's  exploitation  of  it, 
and  as  he  warms  to  his  work  he  accomplishes  things  more  and  more  bewildering 
and  delightful  ...  if  this  amusing  book,  as  amusing  in  substance  as  it  is 
accomplished  in  style,  does  not  win  a  wider  popularity  than  anything  of  Mr. 
Lang's  has  hitherto  enjoyed,  we  shall  be  very  much  surprised." 

— NEW  YORK  TRIBUNE. 

"...  He  shows  us  how  two  ingenious  young  Englishmen,  aided  by 
various  pretty  girls,  set  up  an  agency  for  the  benefit  of  families.  .  .  .  Mr. 
Lang  has  succeeded  in  achieving  both  unity  of  theme,  and  variety  of  adventure, 
while  each  of  the  amusing  episodes  is  enlivened  by  a  humor  as  playful  as  it  is 
delicate."— SAN  FRANCISCO  CALL. 

"  One  of  the  most  amusing  books  of  the  season.  The  volume  is  a  capital 
one  to  take  up  at  odd  moments." — THE  LIVING  AGE,  BOSTON. 

"...  The  plot  of  Mr.  Lang's  story  is  original  and  is  developed  in  the 
inimitable  way  which  belongs  to  that  entertaining  writer.  It  is  really  an  en- 
joyable story.  .  .  .  It  is  a  new  line  of  fiction  for  Mr.  Lang,  and  he  has 
combined  humor,  fantasy,  and  a  study  of  society's  methods  in  a  very  clever 
production." — HERALD,  GRAND  RAPIDS,  MICH. 

"  Not  only  literature  and  love,  but  wireless  telegraphy,  submarine  vessels, 
seizing  a  woman  for  a  vast  ransom,  and,  in  truth,  everything  else  one  has  heard 
of  in  these  latter  days  is  at  least  touched  in  '  The  Disentanglers.'  There  is  a 
subtle  flattery  about  the  book,  too ;  Mr.  Lang  trusts  his  reader's  brains ;  he 
expresses  himself  in  hints,  not  in  surgical  operations." — NEW  YORK  TIMES. 

"'  The  Disentanglers  '  is  not  only  a  novel  that  possesses  the  merit  of  origin- 
ality, but  contains  a  series  of  parodies  of  some  of  the  popular  novelists  of  the 
day  that  are  most  admirable.  More  excellent  fooling  or  better  high-class  com- 
edy has  rarely  been  brought  together  in  a  single  volume." 

—JOURNAL,  CHICAGO. 

"...  It  is  a  merry  collection  of  merry  tales.  ...  All  in  all,  Mr. 
Lang's  book  is  highly  amusing,  and  it  will  doubtless  add  not  a  little  to  the  gay- 
ety  of  the  British  literary  nation."— TRANSCRIPT,  BOSTON. 


LONGMANS,  GREEN,  &  CO.,  91-93  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 


DONNA   DIANA 

By  RICHARD  BAGOT 

AUTHOR  OF  "  CASTING  OF  NETS,"  '''  A  ROMAN  MYSTERY,"  ETC. 


Crown  8vo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.5O 


"  Richard  Bagot's  fiction  has  always  striking  qualities,  and  his  latest  novel, 
•  Donna  Diana/  is  by  far  his  best  ...  as  a  story  it  is  sure  of  success.'' 

— THE  LIVING  AGE,  BOSTON. 

"  The  story  is  well  told,  full  of  color  and  vivid  scene." 

— ST.  Louis  REPUBLIC. 

"Whether  Mr.  Richard  Bagot  has  really  penetrated  the  recesses  of  Roman 
Catholic  consciousness  we  may  not  know,  but  certainly  if  what  he  writes  is  not 
true,  it  has  a  marvelous  appearance  of  it.  ...  Of  the  story,  as  a  story,  we 
have  space  to  say  only  that  it  is  well  told,  and  holds  the  interest  for  its  own  sake 
unflagging  to  the  end."— CHURCHMAN,  NEW  YORK. 

"  A  brilliant  and  charming  romance." — SCOTSMAN. 

"...  A  Roman  story  with  a  vigorous  and  powerful  setting  and  an 
abundance  of  plot  and  intrigue.  It  is  a  mighty  good  story,  well  told,  and  there 
are  very  few  books  of  this  season  that  will  have  as  large  and  delighted  a  circle 
of  readers." — HERALD,  SARATOGA  SPRINGS,  N.  Y. 

"...  Equals  Marion  Crawford's  books  in  the  capable  and  certain 
handling  of  his  characters  in  the  picturesque  but  tortuous  highways  of  the 
Roman  world  of  to-day.  He  gives  a  detailed  view  of  the  domestic  customs  and 
social  life  of  the  aristocracy  and  tells  at  the  same  time  an  absorbing  love  story." 

— ITEM,  PHILADELPHIA,  PA. 

"  .  .  .  It  is  an  absorbing  story,  containing  a  constant  conflict  between 
bigotry  and  open-mindedness,  between  evil  and  good.  Mr.  Bagot  takes  his 
readers  into  the  homes  of  his  Roman  friends,  and  with  much  care  and  detail 
describes  their  domestic  and  social  life,  such  as  is  rarely  given  to  a  foreigner  to 
observe." — EAGLE,  BROOKLYN,  N.  Y. 

"  .  .  .  There  is  not  a  particle  of  let-up  in  interest  from  cover  to  cover. 
As  one  enters  the  city  gates  via  the  first  chapter,  he  is  loth  to  quit  the  interest- 
ing company  of  friendships  he  makes,  both  secular  and  churchly,  until  he  knows, 
as  far  as  the  author  reveals  it,  the  destiny  of  each  of  the  personages  who  par- 
ticipate in  the  making  of  a  capital  story." — TRANSCRIPT,  BOSTON. 

"  .  .  .  Mr.  Bagot's  substantial  knowledge  of  Roman  life  has  contributed 
a  great  deal  toward  giving  vitality  to  the  social  groups  depicted  in  the  pages  of 
4  Donna  Diana,'  and  there  is  much  else  that  gives  the  romance  considerable 
human  and  artistic  effect."— BALTIMORE  SUN. 


LONGMANS,  GREEN,  &  CO.,  91-93  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 

COLLEGE  LIBRARY 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


IOCT  ]  ]  2004 


Book  Slip-25>rt-9,'59(A4772s4)4280 


UCLA-College  Library 

PR  4731  S82 


i-oncge 
Library 

PR 
4731 


L  005  699  068  2. 


UC  SOUTH 


7    001165828     3 


